by Adele Clee
He glanced at Sophia, who was studying papers she’d found in a leather writing case on the side table.
“Undoubtedly. Finlay, come and look at these.”
Finlay crossed the room.
Sophia handed him a detailed sketch of a formal garden with a Baroque terrace and intricate canals, and another of a neoclassical rotunda on the bank of a meandering lake.
“Should I have an inclination to move to the country,” he said, impressed by Blent’s skill, “remind me to hire him to design the gardens.”
“Had I known he possessed such talent, he could have had free rein here. A peaceful, pastoral landscape might make Jessica feel less confined.” She offered Finlay another sketch. “Talking of Jessica, I fear you will have something to say about this one.”
Finlay accepted the drawing, albeit reluctantly. It was a pencil portrait of Jessica. With her head bowed, she looked lost in thought. Blent had captured the innocent beauty of her face, contrasted that by exaggerating the fullness of her mouth, ripe and plump, almost erotic.
“He’s in love with her,” Finlay said. He knew what it was like to worship a woman from afar, to fantasise about the feel of her lips, the warmth of her mouth, the smoothness of her tongue. “From the tatty corners, it’s obvious he’s looked at this a hundred times since putting pencil to paper.”
“Perhaps he has a brotherly interest.”
“He has romantic desires,” Finlay reiterated. “Based on this drawing, he’s the only one who truly sees beyond Jessica’s erratic behaviour.”
“He’s employed to be attentive to her needs,” she said, disbelief clinging to every syllable. “But I’ve never suspected he held her in such high regard.”
“Perhaps because you’re so preoccupied with her illness you can think of little else.”
A gnawing unease settled in his stomach. If Jessica came to the cottage to play chess, she did so without a chaperone. Blent accompanied her on her daily walk, always came to her rescue. How long did he spend with her in the woods before carrying her home?
Was she ever missing at all?
“What was it Jessica said about Blent before we made the journey to London?” Finlay recalled it verbatim but sought her interpretation.
“Oh, just that she hated the thought of not telling him where we were going. That she feared something might happen to him in her absence.”
One might have presumed she’d show concern for Anne, but she hadn’t mentioned the maid, nor the cook or housekeeper.
“What do you think she meant?”
Sophia frowned. “I thought it was a case of her overthinking. Since she’s started sleepwalking, she fears for everyone’s safety.”
“What if she’s not overthinking? What if she cares for him?”
“But how can she care for anyone when her mind is in such turmoil?”
Finlay sighed. “I don’t know. What I do know is that we need to find Blent and ask a few pertinent questions.”
Sophia nodded. She took the sketches, placed them back inside the leather case and returned it to the table. “I believe the key to the house hangs on a hook near the front door.”
Four keys hung on the brass hook near the coat stand.
Sophia was about to unhook the small iron key when the sound of the hounds barking captured their attention. “They only ever bark when someone passes by the kennels. Blent trained them to frighten intruders.”
“Then let’s visit the kennels and discover what has the dogs spooked.”
They took the lit lantern, hurried from the house and followed the path past the dovecote to the small brick building. As they neared the kennels, Finlay heard a gruff male voice snapping commands.
“Wait here,” he whispered, handing Sophia the lantern.
“Yes. Be careful.”
Finlay crept closer to the closed door.
“Are they always so damn rowdy?” came the terse question. “Quieten down you wretched beasts. A good beatin’, that’s what they need, and I’m of a mind to give it to them.”
“Hush, Tom. Mr Blent paid you to feed the dogs, not beat them with a stick.” It was Anne. The wobble of her voice mimicked her skittish gait.
Finlay yanked open the door and glared. “When you’ve finished arguing, perhaps you’d like to explain what the devil you’re doing in here.”
“Oh, Lord!” Anne clutched her chest. “Mr … Mr Cole! Oh, d-dear. You’re b-back.”
“Indeed.” Finlay’s gaze shot past the trembling maid and settled on the scrawny man wearing provincial attire and a shabby felt cap. “Who the hell are you?”
The young fellow looked equally startled. Beating a dog was vastly different from beating a man. The panic in the lad’s eyes said he lacked the courage to do both.
“T-Tom Davies, sir. Anne’s brother. Mr Blent paid me to feed the hounds.”
“Why?” Finlay snapped. “Where’s Blent?”
Terrified, Anne glanced beyond Finlay’s shoulder. “Perhaps Mrs Friswell can explain, sir. She’s gone to Bisley but will be back in the morning.”
“You explain.”
“I—I’m not sure I know all the f-facts, sir.”
Sophia approached, holding the lantern aloft. “Anne? What on earth are you doing out here? And where is Blent?”
“Blent paid Anne’s brother to care for the hounds, and Mrs Friswell is in Bisley,” Finlay said. “Anne is about to tell us why.”
Anne nodded, her teeth chattering as if she had spent an hour in the icehouse. “Mrs Friswell went to collect supplies from her sister.” Anne heaved a breath. “She said the devil would soon reveal himself and we must be prepared.”
Sophia gripped his arm. “What on earth can Mrs Friswell mean?”
Finlay wanted to know about Blent, not the damn housekeeper, but Anne’s words chilled him to the bone. “Does Mrs Friswell practise the dark arts?”
Anne appeared confused. “The dark arts?”
“Witchcraft.”
Anne jumped in shock. “Sir, no! No. Mrs Friswell studies herbs and helps people with her medicines.”
That’s the excuse she used to appease the maid. But Mrs Friswell’s medicine was likely to blame for Jessica’s irrational thoughts.
“And her brother-in-law mends traps,” Anne added.
“Where’s Blent?” he demanded, for they would get little sense out of Anne.
“B-Blent?”
“Yes, Blent. The man you have worked alongside for five damn years.”
“He’s gone, sir, gone to London. Left in a right old panic.”
“London?” Sophia gasped. “Why in heaven’s name has he gone there?”
Hellfire!
There were only two reasons why Blent would dare leave his post. Had he accompanied the doctor in the search for his patient? Had he genuine concerns for Jessica’s welfare? Thank the Lord neither man had any hope of finding her in town.
“Did he leave with Dr Goodwin?”
Anne frowned. “No, sir. He took a horse and left before the doctor woke. Made me swear not to say where he’d gone if the gentleman asked. Blent is desperate to find Miss Draper, sir.”
“Why?”
Anne shrugged. “He said it’s a matter of life and death.”
Chapter 16
The cold coil of fear tightened in Sophia’s stomach. Was Jessica safe with Mr Sloane? Finlay assured her the man was as skilled with a pistol as he was a sword. Violence was in the blood. Moreover, D’Angelo had nine lives and refused to die before punishing the rogue who murdered his parents.
Despite Blent’s heroic protestations, he would never find Jessica.
Oh, why had Blent not shared his concerns?
Why in heaven’s name had he not explained his suspicions?
Finlay strode over to her as she waited by Blackborne’s wrought-iron gates. “We won’t be much longer.” He drew her close and wrapped his powerful arms around her to ease her anxiety. “Another thirty minutes and we’ll be ready to leave. Turton said
we can’t push the horses too fast and will need to stop at least once en route.”
In the dark, Turton and Anne’s brother had removed the horses’ harness, walked the bays and brushed them down, while Anne heated the bricks for the foot warmer.
Sophia drew back and looked at Finlay. Oh, her heart swelled with love. Lord help her if she should ever be parted from him again.
“What is this devilry about, Finlay? We’ve been running in circles for days, and still, we’re none the wiser.”
He cupped her cheek. “We’re making steady progress. Each new piece of information builds a picture. I spoke to Anne. Dr Goodwin’s face turned ghostly white the moment he discovered we’d left during the night. Fear turned to panic, and he bolted from Blackborne as if the devil were chasing his heels.”
“He must know we suspect him of plying Jessica with laudanum unnecessarily. That we know he needs funds.”
“Hmm.” The sound held a narrative of doubts.
“You think Dr Goodwin has other motives?”
“I think it’s unwise to let our minds construct stories. We should continue to uncover evidence and follow the trail. It’s the only way to achieve the desired results.”
She pressed a feather-light kiss to his lips, inhaled his natural, earthy scent. “I long for the day our troubles are behind us, when we are free from distractions.”
He returned her kiss. The chaste melding tugged at the muscles deep in her core. “I long for a bedchamber and a few hours of peace.”
“And what would you do during those precious hours?”
His mouth curled into a wicked grin. “Make love to you thoroughly, the way I’ve imagined doing for years.”
The need to banish Anne’s terrifying words from her mind encouraged Sophia to say, “How exactly? Give me something to fan desire’s flames, something to keep the cold at bay.”
Finlay moistened his lips and drew her closer, squashing her breasts against his broad chest. “I shall part your legs, caress your soft thighs, slip my tongue back and forth over your sex until you’re hot and wet and bucking wildly.”
Good Lord!
“I shall look forward to it immensely,” she croaked.
Oh, but he wasn’t done yet. He pressed his mouth to her ear—the heat of his breath sending shivers to her toes—and drew her lobe between his teeth. “Then I shall make you come again while you’re full with my cock.”
Merciful Mary!
She might have melted to a puddle were she not locked in his embrace.
“Will the imagery keep you warm, Sophia?” he drawled. “How are desire’s flames now?”
“Raging.”
A discreet cough from behind forced Finlay to release her. Turton approached. “We’re ready to leave, sir. I know you’re desperate to be on the road.”
“Thank you, Turton.” Finlay turned to her. “While my blood pumps hot with the need to make love to you in the carriage, you should sleep. Besides, anticipation heightens one’s arousal.”
Lord! She doubted she could be more aroused. Still, he was right. When this was all over, they would have a lifetime to indulge their whims.
The bays took to the road at a slow, steady pace. Despite Sophia’s fears for Jessica, the rocking of the carriage helped lull her to sleep.
It took three hours to reach Mr Sloane’s mansion house in Little Chelsea. Indeed, it was five in the morning when Finlay touched her knee and gently shook her awake.
“I’ve instructed Turton to take us to the stables,” Finlay said. The whites of his tired eyes were red, his lids heavy. “We can use the servants’ entrance rather than disturb Fitchett. Once you’ve checked on Jessica, I suggest we both rest for a few hours.” Finlay paused. “Then we must question your sister regarding her relationship with Blent.”
The comment caused a tightness in Sophia’s throat, but she swallowed past the constriction. “No doubt her mind holds a wealth of secrets.” Her stomach roiled. “Finlay, me treating her as a child hasn’t helped. In trying to care for her, I’d forgotten she was a woman, a woman with wants and needs. If only I could go back to when she first became ill. If only—”
“You cannot go back. Focusing on the past is a means of torture. Trust me. I know. But we can put this right.”
She nodded again, too tired to do anything else.
The carriage turned through the arched gatehouse and entered the stable courtyard. A sleepy-eyed young groom hurried from a door next to the coach house, pulling a cap over his unruly brown hair.
“We seem to make a habit of seeing the sun peak above the horizon,” she said as Finlay settled his hands on her waist and lifted her down to the ground. “If only we could stand here for another hour and witness the break of dawn.”
He held her for a moment. “The next time we watch the sun rise together, I pray it will be under better circumstances.”
What could be better than being with the man she loved?
Still, she pictured them at the nursery window, his chest pressed to her back, his strong arms around her waist, caressing her swollen stomach, his chin resting on her shoulder.
Tears brimmed.
He cupped her cheek. “Don’t cry. Know I shall never fail you again.”
That made her cry all the more.
Turton approached. “Beg your pardon, sir.” He waited patiently until she’d dried her eyes, until Finlay released her and stepped back. “Jack said the master caught an intruder in the garden.”
“An intruder!” Sophia almost choked on the words. A host of horrid scenarios rushed through her mind. What if the devil had entered the house? What if he’d found his way into Jessica’s chamber?
“They’re holdin’ him prisoner, waitin’ for your return.”
Finlay didn’t stop to ask questions. He cursed, captured her hand and led her into the house. Fitchett directed them into the drawing room, which looked like a scene from the Spanish Inquisition. Mr Sloane, Mr D’Angelo and Mr Ashwood loomed over a man sitting bound to a chair, hurling a barrage of accusations.
All three men whirled around to face the door.
“Ah, Cole.” Mr Sloane stepped back and gestured to the intruder. “This fellow refuses to utter a word until he’s seen Miss Draper.”
Blent!
How in heaven’s name had he found them?
“Where’s Jessica?” Panic imbued Sophia’s tone.
“Upstairs,” Mr Ashwood replied. “My wife is watching her lest she wake and hear the rumpus down here.”
“Ashwood?” Finlay sounded relieved to see his colleague. “Tell me Daventry didn’t send you.”
“We were to dine with Daventry and Sybil last night, but he sent word they were detained here. We came to relieve them.”
“You’re supposed to call him Hawkridge now he’s inherited a title,” Mr D’Angelo teased.
Sophia had forgotten Mr Ashwood had recently come into his inheritance, though he treated the matter as if it were a dreadful inconvenience.
The gentleman arched a reprimanding brow, which only enhanced his handsome features. “If anyone in this room calls me Hawkridge, or utters the word lord, I shall beat them with Cole’s swordstick.” He observed Finlay through remarkable green eyes. “Though it appears you are no longer in need of your cane. Has your injury improved?”
His injury?
Sophia’s heart sank to her stomach.
“I suffer a slight twinge in the knee but nothing incapacitating.”
Sophia turned to Finlay and whispered through her smile, “Had I known you’d injured your leg, I would have forgone the vigorous carriage activities.”
“Precisely why I didn’t mention it.”
“Are you in pain now?”
“A little.”
Mr Sloane faced Blent and folded his arms across his chest. “Other than giving his name and insisting on speaking to Miss Draper, we’ve heard nary a word from him since.”
Blent strained against his restraints. “I will speak to no one but
Miss Draper.”
“Untie him,” Sophia demanded. “He’s not an animal, and I hardly consider him a threat. I’m sure he will offer an explanation for his actions.”
Mr Sloane glanced at Finlay, awaiting his approval.
“Do as the lady asks.” Finlay approached Blent. “You may see Miss Draper when she wakes. But how did you know to come here?”
Perhaps the compassion in Finlay’s voice gave Blent the courage to speak. “I overhead Lady Adair tell Jess— Miss Draper not to worry. She said they were going to stay with Mr Sloane in Chelsea. I’ve spent two days trying to find the house.”
Sophia’s cheeks flamed when Finlay’s irate gaze shot in her direction. “But we were alone in Jessica’s chamber. How did—” Recognition dawned. “Ah, you crept up the servants’ stairs to her room.”
Blent looked unashamed. “I had to know she was safe.”
“Because you’re in love with her,” Finlay stated calmly. “You’ve grown close to her over the years. And you’re aware she’s in danger.”
Blent heaved a sigh. “Yes.”
Finlay leant forward and gripped the arms of the chair, his face mere inches from Blent’s. “I swear, if you’ve taken her virtue, I shall rip you limb from bloody limb.”
Blent hissed in disgust. “I’m the son of a gentleman, not a tavern whore. I was hired to protect her, not ruin her reputation.”
“And what is a gentleman with an exceptional talent for design doing playing nursemaid and working in a damn kennel?”
“That’s my business.”
Finlay straightened. “You own the first English translation of Wieland’s Oberon. A hundred-year-old copy of Julius Caesar. Your card table is worth more than you could earn at Blackborne in two years. You must see how suspicious it looks.” He turned to Sophia. “How did you come to hire him?”
“I didn’t. My father hired Mr Blent a month before he died.” And she trusted his judgement implicitly. “He conducted the interviews, said Mr Blent was the best candidate for the position.”
While William Adair had provided the funds to purchase Blackborne, he’d refused to have any involvement in managing the property.
Finlay glanced at Mr Ashwood. A look passed between the gentlemen—a silent instruction. Mr Ashwood sauntered over to Blent, whispered in his ear, and set about untying the ropes.
