They strode through the Great Hall and exited one of the double doors leading out to a large terrace at the rear of the house. Sebastian guided her to the stone balustrade that separated the small table and chairs from the formal gardens and parkland beyond. His lungs expanded with a deep, purifying inhalation while he studied the area for potential threats, an act as natural to him as breathing. When he finished his search, he took in his first glimpse of Bellamere’s gardens in years.
Row after row of flawlessly groomed hedges and precisely placed flowers greeted his eye. Winding gravel paths connected each unique section to the last. Statuary, ponds, and iron trellises dotted the landscape, providing secluded nooks to soothe one’s soul.
The sunken garden was a particular favorite of his. Many times as a boy, he would take refuge in the far corner of the deep-set rectangle, where a small fountain gurgled and splattered water over its low basin. There, he had dreamed of a different life, filled with laughter and family… filled with love.
Even then, his responsibilities had threatened to overwhelm him. As heir to a thriving earldom, he’d had much to learn. Which meant long days of study with his tutor and intense sessions on estate management with his father, who was more concerned with creating a replica of himself than nurturing a motherless boy.
His rigid schedule left little time for being a child, and when he became the seventh Earl of Somerton at the age of twelve, his childhood disappeared. Not until years later had Sebastian understood his father’s obsessive need to ready him for the management of his inheritance. His father’s obsession was fed by his fear and the knowledge that he was dying and Sebastian would be left all alone. It was Sebastian’s first lesson in sacrifice. His father had forfeited a close relationship with his son for a greater good.
Movement to his right pulled him from his bittersweet contemplations. He transferred his attention to the widow and found her studying him. For the first time, he noticed the fatigue pulling at her pretty eyes and wondered what, besides Mr. Blake’s oils, might be plaguing her.
Ashcroft. The muscles in his neck clenched tight. Of course, she would be worried about the circumstances surrounding her husband’s death. Sebastian regretted not being able to set her mind at ease—though learning the truth behind her husband’s brutal murder might have the opposite effect.
Ignoring her evident signs of strain, he focused on a matter he could control. “Better?”
She blinked two times in quick succession. “Pardon?”
“You are rubbing your temple,” he said. “Did Mr. Blake’s painting supplies leave you with a headache?”
“I’ve never understood how he stays cooped up in that room for hours.” She lowered her arm. “Every time I meet with him, my head begins to pound within minutes.”
“Shall I have Mrs. Fox bring you something for the pain?”
“Thank you, no. The fresh air will do.” A few seconds later, she asked, “You needed to speak with me, my lord?”
“Yes,” he said. “May I call on you Sunday, after services? I thought we could further discuss the letters Ashcroft sent. Given what I just witnessed inside, I fear tomorrow will prove too busy a day.”
Her mask slipped then, just the smallest bit. But he saw disappointment flash across her face as clearly as he could see the single freckle marking the right side of her slender neck.
Again, she leveled her dark gaze on him. Intent. Probing. And somehow, seductive as hell. “Have you nothing to share with me now, my lord?”
“I believe it might be best to discuss the matter once I’ve had an opportunity to wash the road off and rest for a few hours.” Talking to her now, with exhaustion beating against his mind, could open the door for mistakes, and that was something he must guard against when near this observant widow.
“Yes, of course,” she said, drawing her reticule close once more. “I will leave you to it.”
He stepped closer, resting his hand on the balustrade near her hip. Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled in an exploratory breath, searching for her scent and finding only a subtle essence that identified her as a female. Nothing artificial, no expensive perfumes or aromatic soaps. No, this was pure woman.
Sebastian’s chest expanded and he had to swallow hard before he could speak again. “I take it Mr. Blake’s antics are the reason Grayson urged me to return in his last update.”
She nodded. “He did not want to bother you, knowing you were needed in London. But, after Mr. Blake attended a local art exhibit last autumn, his disinterest in managing your estate affairs has magnified at an alarming rate.”
He waved his arm toward Bellamere’s vast gardens. “Everything here seems to be in order.”
She peered over the grounds below. “Yes, your steward likes his comforts.”
“And the tenants? How have they fared?” He suspected he knew the answer already, given the conversation he had overheard.
“They grow increasingly disgruntled, my lord.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’ve placed you in an untenable situation?”
“I don’t mind confronting Mr. Blake,” she said. “I actually look forward to our tête-à-têtes. My household all but runs itself these days, so addressing your tenants’ concerns has given me something else to focus my mind on.”
“How do I respond to such a statement?” he asked. “You’re welcome doesn’t seem quite right.”
“What I have done is of little concern,” she said. “Grayson, on the other hand, has to work with the man and try to keep the peace within the household.”
Sebastian had a deep affection for the old retainer and did not like hearing about the butler’s undue frustration. “I take it Mr. Blake not only absconded with my study but a suite of rooms as well.”
“How did you know?”
“It’s obvious the steward’s cottage would not be sufficient for his needs.” He released a sigh. “It appears I have much to rectify in my short visit.”
“A man in your position should be able to trust those in his employ to see to his interests.”
Her defense caught him off guard, and his grip tightened on the balustrade. “You are much too kind, I assure you, Mrs. Ashcroft. We both know I have a duty to the sound management of this estate, one of which is placing qualified individuals into positions of importance.” He paused a moment. “But I thank you for the encouragement, all the same. And I appreciate your intervention with Mr. Blake.”
“You’re welcome, my lord.”
She took a step back, and that’s when Sebastian realized the gap between their bodies was achingly small. He straightened.
“I’ve been keeping a list of items needing your steward’s attention.” She retrieved a folded piece of paper from the depths of her beaded reticule. “You might find this of use as you move forward.”
Taken aback, Sebastian peered at her offering with a mix of wariness and wonder.
“My lord?”
He reached for the list. “Thank you.”
He studied her neat writing and counted twenty-seven items. “You are quite organized, Mrs. Ashcroft. An admirable trait.” She had structured the information into a series of columns, noting the item in need of repair, the tenant’s name, when Mr. Blake was notified, dates she’d checked on the projects’ progress—
His gaze narrowed on the last column labeled Date Completed. The column that held not a single date. “Mr. Blake has failed to address all of these repairs?”
“I’m afraid so, my lord.”
“Some of these date back to a year ago.”
She held his gaze, her silence ringing louder than a death knell. Then she said, “Thankfully the older repairs are more aesthetic in nature. As you can see, the bridge repair occupies the first slot. The farther you go down the list, the less priority the repairs hold.”
Frustration coiled inside his muscles. Damn his steward�
�s incompetence. The relaxation he’d experienced upon seeing his estate was nothing more than a vague memory. “I’m grateful for your attention to my tenants’ needs, Mrs. Ashcroft. Is there anything I might do for you in return?”
A look of bewilderment crossed her face. “N-no, sir. Attending to those items is more than enough.”
“You are rather easy to please, Mrs. Ashcroft.”
She chuckled low, but the sound held little humor. “On the contrary, my lord. I’m told I’m quite difficult to please.”
“Then it is their failure, not yours, madam.” Sebastian experienced an ungovernable need to ask for the name of anyone who had made such a callous statement, so he could drag him back here by the scruff of his miserable neck to apologize.
She sent him an appreciative smile before fixing her gaze on the horizon, toward her home. “I must be off. I promised my daughter a stroll to the lake before dinner.”
Mention of her daughter had the same effect as sleet rolling down his spine. Somehow he had to find a way to honor Ashcroft’s request of watching over his family without becoming personally involved. For their safety and his sanity.
“She fares well, too, I hope.”
“More than well, my lord.” The somber edges of her features transformed into glowing angles. “Sophie is a sweet-hearted girl, full of life, and rather horse-mad, I’m afraid. She turns seven next Saturday.”
“From the sound of it, your daughter is keeping you busy.”
“Indeed, she does. Her old nurse, too. The poor woman can do little more than watch her flit from one distraction to the next.”
“No matter how hard they might be, enjoy these years while you can. Children grow up all too soon.”
The widow studied him with a peculiar look that made heat gather around his neckcloth. He broke eye contact and took the opportunity to scan the gardens and treeline again. “I should not keep you any longer. May I escort you home?”
“Is anything amiss, sir?”
Sebastian jerked his attention back to his companion. Her gaze flicked up from his hands, where he toyed with his signet ring. “No, why?”
“You appear distracted.” She waved toward the area he had been searching. “Searching for something?”
Surprised by her perception and irritated by his lack of finesse, he emptied his expression of all emotion, stopped twirling his ring, and forced his voice into an equally bland tone. “I am merely enjoying the view, madam.”
“Ah, I see.”
But Sebastian could perceive that she had not been fooled. He cursed again. His transition from protective agent to bored aristocrat had been too abrupt, too jarring. This mess with Latymer and Reeves was affecting him more than he realized.
He settled what he hoped was a pleasant smile on his lips. “May I provide an escort, Mrs. Ashcroft?”
“No need, my lord.” She sent him a thin smile. “I have navigated the path connecting our two properties many times. If you have nothing more for me, I shall retrieve my horse and head back to Winter’s Hollow.”
Sebastian gritted his teeth, bowing. “Thank you again for your assistance. I shall see you Sunday.”
She curtsied, and set off for the stables.
He tapped the folded list against the stone ledge while he followed the widow’s route through the garden until she disappeared behind the small maze of tall green hedges.
Despite his blunder with the surveillance, the sensual awareness that had been present during their meeting in London was all but nonexistent today. In fact, she seemed a wholly different woman. Her wardrobe, her hair, her openness—it was all… suppressed. So what had changed in the last four days?
He caught a small glimpse of her again when she turned toward the stables. One thing that had remained the same from their previous meeting was the layer of underlying loneliness he sensed in her. This she could not mask. At least not from him, a man who had lived in emotional isolation for years. Too many years for him to change now, but the widow made him yearn for something closer, something more meaningful.
His gaze roamed over the gardens, and paper crackled between his stiff fingers. Once again, his responsibilities had closed in on him. What he had viewed as a sanctuary a mere half hour ago now felt like another beautiful, unwanted burden.
Three
Catherine did her best to retreat from Lord Somerton’s presence in a calm, there’s-nothing-wrong-with-me manner. But there was something wrong. Something very wrong. It was all she could do not to run, not to flee from the chaos crowding her mind and the unholy sensations invading her body.
How does one run from oneself? She closed her eyes and allowed her lungs to expand on a long breath. The exercise didn’t help. Nothing would at the moment. She was too far gone into self-recrimination. Squaring her shoulders, she refocused on the path.
The man she had spoken with today was vastly different from the one she had encountered in London. Today’s Lord Somerton was compelling. His anger over Mr. Blake’s inaction, his concern for his butler, and his appreciation of her efforts were the reactions of a man who cared. Not someone who could not be bothered with a grieving widow’s request.
His eyes—a piercing blue-gray flecked with an unholy silver—were perhaps what disturbed Catherine the most. The combination of striking colors bore right through to her soul, laying open all the raw pain she tried to hide from the world.
She felt wary around him. Exposed. Drawn to the strength chiseled into his lean features.
That strength had not faltered once. At least not until she’d defended his decision to leave Bellamere in the hands of his steward. A flash of surprise, maybe even gratitude, had lit those amazing eyes.
Catherine veered toward the stables. While making her way down a small hill, she allowed her thoughts to circle back to his stunned reaction. One would believe he was unaccustomed to such defense. Much like she was unprepared for his offer to return a favor. In her experience, few men offered such things without an ulterior motive. But, in his expression, she saw only sincerity and gratitude.
She shook her head, unwilling to contemplate the earl’s motivations any longer. She couldn’t allow herself to be swayed by a few kindnesses. For all she knew, he had staged everything for her benefit.
Why he would go to such lengths, she didn’t know. All she knew in that moment was she had given him an opportunity to tell her the truth about Jeffrey’s murder, and he’d chosen yet again to remain silent. Not one flicker of regret had crossed his handsome face.
She had been watching.
Closely.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ashcroft.”
Catherine halted mid-stride, startled by the groomsman’s greeting. “Hello, Jasper. Could I trouble you to bring out Gypsy?”
“Ain’t no trouble at all, ma’am.” He leaned the pitchfork against the side of Lord Somerton’s enormous barn before disappearing into its depths. Two minutes later, he led Gypsy to the mounting block and rubbed the mare’s nose until Catherine was settled onto the saddle.
Jasper handed the reins up to her. “Did you see his lordship, ma’am?”
She patted Gypsy’s neck. “Indeed I did, Jasper.”
“Do you think his lordship will see to things?”
Known for his gentle nature, the groomsman rarely spoke his mind. That he did so now confirmed the deplorable state of Mr. Blake’s management. “Yes,” she said. “I think Lord Somerton will see to many things.”
He nodded. “Some folks have it in their heads that his lordship agreed with Mr. Blake’s way of taking care of concerns.”
“But you know better. Isn’t that correct, Jasper?”
“Aye, ma’am.” He scratched the back of his head, making his hat go askew. “Though some folks wonder why it took his lordship so long to return.”
Damn men and their infernal habit of being absent. “Lor
d Somerton is a busy man, with many responsibilities. If he had known what was happening here, I’m certain he would have returned posthaste. His lordship hires individuals, like yourself, to care for his properties, because he cannot be in more than one place. Unfortunately, not every member of his staff has the same love of their job as you do.”
The barrage of words had barely left her lips before Catherine cursed her wayward tongue. If she could have done so without an excessive amount of blood, she would have bit the troublesome appendage off.
What on earth was she doing defending the earl yet again? She did not even know if he deserved such support. For all she knew, the man was an excellent candidate for a cell in Newgate.
The groomsman smiled. “I knew it had to be something like that, ma’am. My uncle used to be his lordship’s head gardener. You’d never meet a more surlier, hard-to-please man than Uncle Henry, but he often spoke well of his lordship.” He tipped his hat in her direction. “Thank you for setting my mind at ease. I’ll let the others know.”
Catherine nearly groaned. The earl had better have been sincere in his outrage over Mr. Blake’s lack of attention. If he wasn’t, she’d have a lot of explaining to do. “Be sure to say hello to your wife.”
He released Gypsy and stepped back. “That I will, Mrs. Ashcroft.”
The ride back to Winter’s Hollow gave Catherine time to wrestle her tumultuous thoughts back into their proper place. She rather liked Mr. Cochran’s idea of keeping an eye on Lord Somerton, even though the process was clearly spying. But her mind seemed willing to overlook that fact for two simple reasons. One, if the earl was found innocent of treason, he—along with Cochran—might be able to solve the mystery of her husband’s death; and two, just being near Lord Somerton made her feel sensations she hadn’t felt in a long time. And God forgive her, she didn’t want to give that up yet.
To think Lord Somerton would be the one to awaken her body came as a surprise, considering his penchant for isolation and avoidance of finer feelings. But it had always been so with him. Even while Jeffrey was still alive, much to her shame. She had never acted on the deep yearnings of her body, nor had she given the earl reason to suspect she carried them.
Checkmate, My Lord Page 4
