Suppressing a chuckle, he said, “I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell me?”
“King Solomon housed forty thousand Arabians in his stable. Can you imagine? They’d fill your big barn.”
Sebastian nodded in agreement. “Indeed, they would. Yours, too.”
“Holy horses!”
A laugh burst from Sebastian’s chest, alarming Cira and the groomsman and sending young Sophie into a gale of giggles. The intrepid child reminded him so much of Cora at her age that he felt an answering pang of longing for simpler times.
“Ohhhh, no,” Sophie whined. The abrupt shift from laughter to a child’s pout surprised him. He glanced down and found her staring off into the distance, shrinking behind his shoulder.
He followed her gaze and noticed a feminine form headed their way. His heart stuttered for a moment, thinking Catherine had come to fetch her child. On closer inspection, the woman wore a light gray gown, rather than mourning black, and she had brown hair. Not his Catherine at all.
“Who is she?”
“My new governess, Mrs. Clarke.”
“You do not like her?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “She’s nice. This morning, she showed me how to build a kite.”
“Impressive,” he said. “How did it fly?”
“Really high. I ran out of string.”
“Well done.” Remembering the many times he had attempted to elude his tutor, he asked, “Are you hiding from Mrs. Clarke?”
“Not her.” She slanted a glance toward her governess again. “Him.”
Sebastian kept his pose casual while he scoured the area. The girl’s tone carried a distinctive note of fear that could not be easily invented. “I see no one.”
“He’s there,” she said. “He’s always there. In the woods, behind Mrs. Clarke.”
He peered beyond the governess, into the dense woodland. Still he saw no one.
“Have you told your mother about him?”
Her eyes widened, as if she remembered something important. “Ahh, I’m going to be in so much trouble.”
“Why is that?” He split his attention between the approaching governess and the treeline.
“Because I’m not supposed to tell anyone about him.” Her voice lowered and she fidgeted with a ruffle on her dress. “Especially you.”
Every muscle in Sebastian’s body hardened with fury. “How long have they been following you about?”
With her eyes downcast, she slid her hand into her pocket, and paper crackled.
He nudged her with his shoulder. “We’re friends now, are we not?”
Her blond eyebrows squeezed together, considering.
“Did you hear of my invitation to visit my stables?”
She brightened, nodding. “Mama said I had to wait until my birthday on Saturday.”
“That’s correct,” he said. “We must be friends, because I don’t let just anyone into my stables.”
“I feel the same way about Dragonthorpe,” she said. “I asked Mama if I could show it to you, but she cried.” Her lips pursed. “Not like that bad man made her cry. I think she misses my papa.”
Sebastian stilled, trying to keep up with the girl’s thought patterns. He had some experience with this particular malady from when Cora was young, but he was more than a little rusty. He tucked Dragonthorpe away, recalling Catherine’s mention of the castle. However, ignoring Sophie’s comment about Catherine missing her husband took a good deal more effort. He eventually managed it, as he knew he would.
“You miss your papa, too?”
Paper crackled again. “Sometimes.”
“Do you have something there of his?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, double trouble.”
The moment didn’t exactly call for humor, but the earnestness in the girl’s voice tickled something deep inside. “A letter, perhaps?”
“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “But it’s all gibberish. You’d think Teddy wrote it instead of my papa.”
Could she be carrying another letter of Ashcroft’s? Sebastian tried to keep his excitement under control. If Sophie had somehow filched one of her father’s coded messages, then Catherine hadn’t held anything back. She had given him everything.
He stared down at the child’s bent head, and a different sort of pressure squeezed his heart. Had she taken her father’s letter in a bid to be closer to him? Instead of finding reassuring words of love, she had found nothing but a confusing string of nonsense. “After your party, I promise to help you read your papa’s letter. How does that sound?” He would make sure Ashcroft’s final words were a comfort to his only child.
“Mama might get upset.”
“I’ll take care of your mama. Agreed?”
“Yes, Bastian.”
“Would you mind if I took a peek at it now?”
With obvious reluctance, she pulled a folded missive from her pocket and held it out for him.
“Thank you, Sophie.” He scanned the contents, no better able to decipher them than Sophie. But toward the end a name stuck out—Frederick Cochran. The name struck a chord of familiarity, but nothing came immediately to mind.
“Oh, yes,” he said, glancing down at Ashcroft’s words again. “I shan’t have any problems deciphering this tomorrow.” Another name stood out in stark contrast to the rest—Abbingale Home. Sebastian frowned, not understanding the reference and having no context in which to figure it out.
“May I keep this until tomorrow?” he asked.
“You won’t forget to give it back?”
“No.” He slid the missive into his coat pocket. “I won’t forget. You have my word.”
Sebastian glanced up to find the governess at the outer edge of the paddock. He moved on to the bad man. The one who made Catherine cry. “How long has the man been following you, Sophie?”
“Which one—the bad man or the scary man?”
“Either one.”
“Three or four days.” She sent him a pleading look. “Please don’t tell Mama.”
“It is our secret.”
“Which man made your mama cry?”
“Mr. Cochran.”
Sebastian strove for calm, even though his heart rocked inside his chest. “Is Mr. Cochran the one hiding in the tree, Sophie?”
“No, that’s the scary man.”
He laid his hand on her arm, wishing he didn’t have to interrogate the poor girl, but knowing it was the only way to help them. “What does the bad man look like?”
She shrugged. “Tall. Blond like Mama.”
“Miss Sophie,” the governess called. “It’s time for you to come home now.”
The little girl pulled so hard on her flounce that Sebastian heard it separate from her dress.
“I won’t allow anyone to harm you, Sophie.”
“And Mama?”
His heart contracted. “I’ll protect her, too.”
The governess’ strides quickened.
“Promise?” she whispered.
Sebastian suppressed his own sense of desperation. “You have my word.”
She made to climb down the fence. “One more thing,” he said, with a touch to her arm. “Your governess. When did she arrive?”
“The bad man brought her.”
With that pronouncement, Sophie swung her legs over to the opposite side of the fence and jumped down, hurrying over to her apparent gaoler.
The woman took Sophie’s hand, nodded at him, and returned the same way in which she came.
The bad man brought her.
Sebastian dug his fingers into the railing to prevent himself from going after the little girl. Seeing her pixie face mottled with fear nearly broke his heart. Even now, her head hung low, dispirited.
“Sophie,” he called.
She turned to f
ace him. “Yes?”
“Don’t forget our appointment on Saturday,” he said. “Cira’s itching to go for a ride.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. She looked like a startled fish. “I get to ride her?” She turned wondering eyes on the Arabian.
“Indeed,” he said, relieved to see her normal exuberance returned. “But not if you’re late.”
She shook her head. “I won’t be. I’ll come early, Bastian.”
He smiled. “That’s my girl.”
Sophie skipped away, leaving her governess to follow along behind. Sebastian’s smile faded. Turning away from the stables, he made his way back up to the house, faster, more determined than when he’d descended.
He had a great deal to do—missives to write, a widow to contemplate, and a bad man to kill.
Nineteen
The bed dipped behind him and then a soft rustling followed, alerting Sebastian to Catherine’s midnight escape. He tracked her progress about the room, with nothing more than his sense of hearing. She pulled out a drawer on his writing desk, and he detected the distinct slide of paper against paper. The drawer closed, and she moved away. Into the sitting room.
He maneuvered his naked body out of bed, drawing his banyan over his shoulders. At the entrance to the sitting room, he drew in a steadying breath. From this point forward, their association would change, likely for the worse. Regret sliced through his heart. With Catherine, he had caught a glimpse of what life outside the Nexus could be. And he’d liked it.
Bracing his hand against the door frame, he hesitated far longer than a seasoned intelligence agent should. He didn’t want to give her up, but the spy in him clawed at his restraints. No matter her reasons, she was here on behalf of his enemy. Her actions had placed his country—a country he had fought years to protect—at risk.
This he could not allow.
No matter the personal sacrifice.
Fortifying his mind, he swallowed back his deep yearning and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. Fully dressed, she bent over something he couldn’t see. Then he saw her dip the nib of her pen into an inkwell.
“Writing me a farewell letter?” he asked.
A short, high-pitched scream burst from her throat, and she shot to her feet. With her back to her makeshift writing table, she faced him. “Pardon?”
He pushed away, moving toward her with predatory intent. “Farewell letter,” he repeated. “The last few evenings you’ve abandoned my bed without so much as a kiss farewell. I thought tonight you might be tarrying long enough to say good-bye.” When he saw her eyes widen at his close proximity, he pivoted to stalk around the table, trying to catch a glimpse of what she had been writing. “Of course, I would have preferred a kiss to a missive.”
Her color was high, and he could hear the painful rasping of her breathing. Sympathy for what he was about to do tugged at his heart.
“Yes, of course.” She snatched up the pages on the table. “How silly of me. I will keep your preference in mind next time.”
Afraid she would rip the sheets to shreds, he grabbed her wrist. “No need to waste good paper, madam. Allow me to read what you’ve written so far.”
With surprising strength, she wrenched free of his hold. “Um, no.” Her movements became jerky and her gaze slashed across the room, reminding him of a caged animal. “I prefer your method of good-bye to mine.”
Dropping all pretense, he asked, “Who sent you, Catherine?”
She sucked in a startled breath. “I have no idea of what you mean, sir.”
“I think you do.” He nodded toward the papers behind her back. “Give them to me.”
Backing away, she shook her head. “It’s nothing, really.”
“You’re not leaving this house until I see what you’re hiding.” He infused as much menace into his tone as possible. “Unless you would like for me to call the constable.”
“Whatever for?”
“To report a theft, of course.”
Looking more trapped than ever, she clutched the papers to her chest. “Please don’t.”
He gentled his voice. “You’re giving me little choice.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then educate me,” he said. “Explain to me why a widow with an impeccable reputation would risk an affaire. Tell me why you would betray my trust.”
“I c-can’t.”
“Why? Why can’t you? Who are you protecting?”
“Please, Sebastian.” Tears filled her eyes. “I beg you. Pretend you never saw this. If you do this for me, I swear I’ll not grace your doorstep again.”
Sebastian’s chest heaved with his building anger. On one level, he stood before this beautiful woman, who had somehow woven a spell around his heart, angry and hurt, and on another level, he observed the scene from a great distance. Disconnected and uncaring.
Betrayal, lies, and death were nothing new to him. He had come to expect them all with every new mission. That didn’t stop him from struggling with the knowledge that Catherine acted out of desperation and the unfortunate side effect was deceiving him. Although he didn’t know the source, he understood her motivation and respected her for having the courage to do what needed doing. But still, Catherine’s decision not to confide in him split open a wound that not even stitches could mend.
“Tempting, my dear. But, like you, I cannot.” He flicked his fingers toward the papers. “I won’t ask for them again. When it comes to physical strength, I win.”
Unabated tears streamed down her face. Her silent torment was nearly his undoing. Had she wailed and screamed, he would know how to deal with such theatrics. Mournful silence was another thing altogether. Wanting nothing more than to end both their suffering, he stepped forward to remove the papers from her crushing grip.
“If you take th-these,” she said around a sob, “they will kill her.”
That stopped him. “Her?”
“Sophie.”
“Who would dare threaten to harm your daughter?” When she remained silent, he demanded, “What madness have you embroiled yourself in?”
She clasped her hands over her ears, flattening the papers against her head. “I didn’t mean to. Dear God, I would never knowingly place Sophie in danger. Never.”
“For what it’s worth, I believe you.” He stepped forward, aching to wrap his arms around her trembling body. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Do you?” she asked, ignoring his command. “Given our circumstances, I’m not sure I’d believe me.”
“I’ve been at this a long time,” he said. “There’s little I have not seen or experienced.”
Sadness stole around the edges of her fear. “How awful for you.”
His throat grew taut, trapping his pithy retort. No one had ever taken the time to consider the personal anguish he’d suffered by way of his position. Most thought him cold and ruthless—and they were right—but not until Catherine had anyone examined the reasons behind those qualities.
“Do you trust me, Cat?”
Her eyes welled. “No one is who they seem to be.”
“Do you trust me?” he asked in a harsh, unsteady voice.
New tears slid along the path of the old ones. “I want to.”
“But you don’t.”
She swallowed. “He said you and your band of traitors were responsible for Jeffrey’s death.”
Band of traitors. Sebastian’s fear for Catherine grew tenfold, for she had wandered into the midst of a brutal war. “He?” She said nothing. “Did he provide a name for this group?”
“Nexus.”
Fury burned through his veins. His gaze dropped to Catherine’s hands. “What is it that you think you have there, Mrs. Ashcroft?”
She shifted back a step. “Something that will save my daughter’s life.”
“Did you by chance purloin one of those items from the second drawer of my writing desk?”
A mixture of chagrin and alarm tumbled across her face.
“Is the letter written with a strange, indecipherable hand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He sent her a remorseful smile. “It’s nothing more than a decoy.”
“What do you mean, ‘decoy’?”
“A coded message placed specifically for my enemy’s redirection.” He lowered his voice. “Who knew my enemy would be so beautiful and clever?”
The blood drained from her face. “This message means nothing, then?”
“Only if you’re interested in the eating habits of hedgehogs.”
“Oh, God.” The pages drifted to the floor. “I have failed.”
Sebastian glanced down at the discarded pages and noticed she had been copying the coded missive.
“Sophie.” She shot across the chamber.
He hooked his arm around her waist and drew her against his chest. “Where do you go?”
She clawed at his hand and kicked at his shins. “Stop it, Sebastian. I must get Sophie and my mother away from here.”
“Catherine, enough.” He subdued her flailing arms. “You cannot win a physical battle against me. Tell me who he is, so that I can protect you.”
The fight went out of her as abruptly as it began. She sagged against him. “Why would you wish to help me after I seduced my way into your bed, only to betray you?”
That hurt. A piece of him had hoped she’d had more compelling reasons for sharing his bed. “Because I must take responsibility for my part in this debacle.”
She swiveled her head around to meet his gaze. “In what way?”
“Promise you won’t try to flee?” When she nodded, Sebastian eased his hold and guided her to one of the upholstered chairs. He did not sit, nor did he stand unmoving, as he was prone to do in situations of high tension. Instead, he paced. “I have much to repent for, Catherine. However, given the same set of circumstances, I would act the same.”
Even bedding a blond-haired, lonely widow in over her head.
“Then why do you feel the need to repent for your actions?”
He sent her a humorless smile. “Because most noble acts have regrettable consequences.”
Checkmate, My Lord Page 23
