“The distinguished footman with a queue helping Belle fill her tray with more delicacies.”
“Go on.”
“Near the bevy of young misses is a roguish footman with black-as-night hair eyeing Miranda Walker.” The gentleman glanced in their direction before turning back to his companion.
The earl nudged her in the opposite direction. “Any other foreign faces?”
“Only the tall maid, with the black hair and spectacles.”
Sebastian stopped and performed a surreptitious scan. “I don’t see a black-haired maid.”
Catherine followed his lead. “She looked to be taking care of refreshments and cleaning away dirty dishes. I do not see her now.” A thought struck her. “You don’t think those people work for Cochran, do you?”
“Doubtful, but I will look into it.” He resumed their stroll, halting a few feet behind the vicar and her mother. “You concentrate on making Sophie happy. I’ll look into the matter of the servants.”
“But—”
“Trust me,” he said. “I might be a failure in the area of finer feelings. But, when it comes to protecting those under my charge, I am unmatched.”
Emotion gripped her chest, and Catherine wanted nothing more than to kiss the man silly. She settled for a hand on his sleeve. “I have not found you lacking in either pursuit, my lord.” Something feral and very male entered his expression. Catherine swallowed and retreated with a pat to his arm. “Very well, my lord. See to the mysterious servants and I’ll take care of my daughter.”
His heavy-lidded gaze did not budge from her face for several heart-pounding seconds. Catherine began to fear he would do something embarrassing—and highly enjoyable—like kiss her.
Then he drew back a step and inclined his head. “Until later.”
Catherine forced her gaze to sweep over her guests, rather than follow Sebastian’s progress. Had she done otherwise, she would not have been able to mask the yearning burning in her soul.
***
Arm in arm, Catherine and Sophie strolled down the path leading from the barn to the house. Dusk was on the horizon, signaling the end to a memorable day. Catherine glanced down at her daughter’s bent head. “What’s the matter, dear?”
She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I wish Teddy didn’t have to do chores.”
“Me, too, sweetheart.” Catherine hugged her closer. “But that’s the deal he struck with Carson so he could spend time with you today. He made a choice, one he seemed more than content with.”
“I suppose so.”
They entered the house and made their way to the nursery. “It was kind of you to include him on your tour of Lord Somerton’s stables.”
“Bastian’s horses were grand, weren’t they, Mama?”
“Very grand.”
“Did you see me ride Cira?”
“Indeed, I did. You were quite accomplished, young lady.”
Sophie beamed. “I thought about asking Eloisa Walker, but she would have complained about the smell the whole time.”
“Then it is good you didn’t extend an invitation.”
“She might be miffed at me.”
Catherine held back a smile. “I’m sure you will have no problem coaxing her out of her pout.” She pushed open the nursery door and found Mrs. Clarke pacing inside.
The governess swung around, her eyes red-rimmed and her hair askew.
Oblivious, Sophie ran to her faux governess. “Mrs. Clarke, you should have joined us. So many lovely horses.”
The governess rested her hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I missed your outing. Sounds like you had an exciting time.”
Sophie’s smile diminished. She reached up to trace a fingertip over Mrs. Clarke’s blotchy cheek. “Does your head still hurt?”
Fresh tears wobbled in the woman’s eyes. “Somewhat. Thank you for asking.” She grasped Sophie’s hand in both of hers, kissing her fingertip. “Now we must wash the barn from your body.”
Her daughter groaned.
“Perhaps we can hold off until tomorrow morning, Mrs. Clarke,” Catherine suggested.
Sophie turned wide, hopeful eyes on her governess.
Mrs. Clarke nodded. “As you wish, ma’am.” To Sophie she said, “I have your nightclothes laid out in the other room. Let us get you ready for bed.”
“Sophie,” Catherine said, “get started without Mrs. Clarke. I need to speak with her for a moment.”
Her daughter tore across the chamber and flung herself into Catherine’s arms. “Thank you for the best birthday ever.”
Tears stung the back of Catherine’s eyes. “You’re welcome, pumpkin.” She kissed her nose. “Now off with you.”
Sophie skipped from the room, leaving two teary-eyed women behind.
“Why are you here?” Catherine asked in a quiet voice.
“To watch over your daughter.”
“Yes.” Catherine clasped her hands together. “That’s why Cochran brought you here. What I want to know is why you are here.”
A haunted expression froze the governess’s features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Catherine shuffled closer. “Don’t you?”
The governess shook her head, her lips firming to stop their trembling.
Closer still. “I recognize a mother’s fear,” Catherine pressed.
Mrs. Clarke’s eyes closed briefly. When they opened again, bleakness penetrated their depths. “Please don’t.”
“Why? There is no one to hear.”
A maniacal laugh burst from her lips. “There is always someone to hear, Mrs. Ashcroft. Never doubt it.” She threw off her grief as if it were a cumbersome mantle. “Now, if you will excuse me. I must attend your daughter.” With that pronouncement, the woman marched into the next chamber.
Catherine’s gaze cast about the nursery, recalling Sebastian’s warning never to underestimate her enemy. Feeling heartsick, she left her enemy behind to tend her daughter. Two doors from her bedchamber, she rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt.
In the middle of the dimly lit corridor stood Silas, looking more tattered than normal, with his neckcloth missing and an unflattering amount of flesh showing. The area around his mouth glistened in a way that turned Catherine’s stomach, and she could see he was holding something behind his back.
“Have you anything for my master?”
Why was he asking now rather than waiting until her return later this evening? Much about Silas tonight seemed stranger than normal. Thank goodness, she and Sebastian had been able to sneak away for a little while to discuss their next steps while Bellamere’s stablemaster fielded Sophie’s and Teddy’s many questions. Recalling Sebastian’s instructions, she said, “This afternoon, I found what looked like a catalog of names and locations, but everything appeared to be in some type of code.”
“How many traitors are on the list?”
Her heart froze in her chest. They had not discussed numbers. “I didn’t count them.”
His head tilted to the side and he seemed to be playing with something in his teeth. “What is your best guess, madam?”
What would be a believable number? One that wouldn’t be laughable or too extraordinary, but large enough to give Cochran pause? She released a slow breath. “If I had to guess, I would say between twenty and twenty-five.”
He stared at her, unblinking, for several bone-racking seconds. “When can you make delivery?”
“Within the next couple days, I suspect.”
“Not sooner?”
“I don’t see how,” she said. “The list is in his lordship’s bedchamber. It’s difficult to copy something so well hidden when I’m rarely left alone.”
“Then do not copy it. Bring the original.”
The longer they spoke, the more agitated he became. In
a level voice, she said, “Mr. Cochran’s instructions were quite clear, sir. I am not to arouse Lord Somerton’s suspicions. If I take the list and he’s still cataloging agents, he will warn every member of the Nexus.”
As if Silas weren’t peculiar-looking enough, his right eye twitched when angered.
“Are we finished here, Mr. Silas?”
The twitching grew worse. He nodded but did not move out of her path. And his hand remained half hidden behind his back.
Catherine lifted her chin and strode forward. “Good night, Mr. Silas.”
His arm swung out, and Catherine saw something large and cudgel-like in his hand. She gasped, ducking beneath the cover of her arms, and waited.
Nothing happened.
Then came a disgusting sucking noise. Easing up from her crouched position, she saw the sound was coming from Silas’s mouth. He was ripping chunks of meat off a large bone with his jagged teeth. Juices from the succulent piece dripped down his chin and landed on his bare chest.
Bile shot into the back of her throat.
“Your reflexes are much better than his lordship’s.” He cocked his head to the side. “And you did not wail like the Irish girl.”
She pressed her back against the wall. “You’re the one?”
It was then Silas did something even more terrifying. He smiled. An awful smile, filled with bits of meat and rotting teeth. Evil.
“His lordship interrupted my search.”
“What were you looking for?”
“The same as you, madam.”
“What of Meghan McCarthy?”
“She had become burdensome to my master.” He jerked his head toward the empty corridor. “His lordship awaits.”
The conversation concluded, and Catherine was glad of it. Once she had scooted clear of her gaoler, she ran the short distance and slammed her door shut. She knew he would follow, knew he would eventually bed down outside her door. The hour she sought her bed might change from night to night, but Silas’s constant guard never faltered.
They had killed Meghan. Did that mean Cochran was the father? It must, but how? He had only arrived a few days ago. Had he been watching her for much longer? Or waiting for Jeffrey to make an appearance? Had he been the one to kill Jeffrey, too? Perhaps his letters were warning Sebastian of Cochran’s perfidy. Good Lord, could this situation get any more complicated and dangerous?
She reviewed her brief conversation with Silas. Had the seed she’d planted taken root? Had it burrowed deep into Silas’s fertile mind? Could he even now be making his way to Bellamere to steal the nonexistent list of agents? She fought to control her fear for Sebastian. Would he be ready for Cochran’s miscreant?
The thought of something happening to Sebastian scorched her soul. So many depended upon him, and England’s safety revolved around his continued leadership of a little-known group of spies. Moreover, she would miss him.
She drew in a deep breath and transformed her fear into faith. He was England’s greatest spymaster, a man sworn to protect his countrymen and one who’d promised to keep her and Sophie safe. A villainous official and a puny footpad would be no match for Sebastian’s lethal mind.
Squaring her shoulders, she clicked the fragile door lock in place, knowing it provided minimal protection. She strode to her dressing table and peered in the looking glass at her hair. The wind had not been kind.
She located the painted porcelain dish, which held her stash of pins. And that’s when she noticed the letter. Her name was not written on the front, nor did it contain an address. But the missive sat propped between a bottle of lotion and a tin of powder. She glanced around the chamber. The room was quiet, almost as if it held its breath, waiting for her to assuage her curiosity.
A heavy blanket of dread bore down on her as she reached for the scrap of paper. Unfolding the note, she read the neat but hastily written message. By the time she reached the end, the words were hidden behind a veil of tears and the pressure around her chest threatened to suffocate her.
“Sebastian.”
***
Catherine peered down at the anonymous letter again, her tears making the feminine handwriting blurry and incomprehensible. She stared at the author’s name. Cora-belle.
Cora. Lord Somerton’s ward, or rather former ward. She was here. And sometime during the festivities, she had invaded Catherine’s private quarters and used her personal stock of paper to write a devastating letter.
My dear Mrs. Ashcroft,
I risk discovery to bring you the truth about Lord Somerton’s care of my brother Ethan and myself. Not only did the earl offer shelter to two grief-stricken orphans, who were no relation to him, he gave us a home, one complete with all the comforts a child could want and all the parental devotion a child might need.
Never once in all the years I lived beneath his guardianship did I doubt his love for me. There are many ways to love another, and all do not require a confession of emotion. Love is in the heart, and I see it shining in his for you.
If you feel the same, which I believe you do, seize this moment. He will never give you a day where you doubt his affection, for his is the truest of hearts.
Warmly, and your new admirer,
Cora-belle
PS—Lord Somerton can at times be rather mulish in his protection of those he loves. Sometimes that noble quality can lead to sacrificial decisions. If you need suggestions on how best to knock some sense into him, I am at your service.
With trembling fingers, Catherine set Cora’s note down and wondered how her life had become so complicated so fast. Her love for Sebastian grew with every encounter, and not even his alleged involvement in Jeffrey’s death had stopped her from plunging in over her head. How had she managed to attach her affections to a man even more obsessed with his cause than either her father or her husband?
A low knock sounded, and Catherine stiffened. She hastily wiped her eyes and tucked the missive away. At the door, she asked, “Yes?”
“May I come in, daughter?”
Catherine patted her cheeks and hair and ran her hands down the front of her dress before unlocking the door. Brown eyes, not dissimilar from Catherine’s own, rounded at the sight of her daughter’s ravaged face. Her mother rushed forward, slamming the door closed behind her and enfolding Catherine in her arms.
“Oh, daughter,” her mother whispered. “All will be set to rights.”
The warmth, the security, and the familiar scent of gardenias in her mother’s embrace propelled Catherine back to her adolescence. The traitorous tears came faster. “It’s too much.”
“No, it’s not.” Her mother clasped her tighter. “You have a strong spirit, one that will see you through this and many more challenges in the years to come. Do not give in to the fear. Sup from it, draw strength from it. Then vanquish it.”
Catherine pulled away, swiping at her face. “Silas admitted to attacking Lord Somerton and killing Meghan McCarthy.”
“Dear God.”
“There’s so much at stake, Mother. One wrong word or one erroneous act, and I could lose my mother and daughter and the man I—” The damning words stuck to the back of her throat.
Keen-witted woman that she was, her mother offered, “The man you love?”
Closing her eyes, Catherine fought back a wave of shame. “Caught in my own tangled web.” She drew in a deep breath and stepped away as an unaccountable chill settled in her bones.
“Do not be so harsh on yourself, daughter,” her mother admonished. “Given the circumstances, you were left with few choices. As for you falling in love with his lordship,” she propped her hands on her hips, “many a male neighbor and traveler has tried to seduce you into their beds over the last few years, with no success. So I suspect there’s something rather special about Lord Somerton, or you would have sent him to the devil with all the rest.”
&n
bsp; Using her fingertips, Catherine placed pressure on each throbbing temple. “For years, I viewed Lord Somerton as a cold, reclusive man with little interest in his country estate.”
“And now?” her mother asked.
“Now, I see that he is everything I was certain he wasn’t.” She thought of his kindnesses toward Sophie, his sense of urgency with the tenants and the various repairs, and his unwavering determination to find Meghan McCarthy. And then there was the way he had ripped away her loneliness with a single, passionate kiss. “Even so,” she wrapped her arms around her middle, “I will never go back to my former half-life. For years, I wondered what horrible thing I had done or hadn’t done to cause Sophie to lose her father. All those worries and recriminations were for nothing. I suffered years of useless guilt. Never again.”
Catherine halted her monologue long enough to draw in a calming breath. “This might sound selfish, but I’m beyond caring. I want a gentleman who will put me—and my daughter—above all else. Someone who will love me and stay by my side, no matter how badly I vex him.”
Her mother’s smile was a mixture of pride and sorrow. “As you should, daughter.”
Catherine did not know how to ease her mother’s past regrets. “Mother, we must all begin anew.” Catherine squeezed her mother’s hand. “Let us put the past to rest.”
Her mother peered down at their joined hands, saying nothing. Then her free hand covered Catherine’s. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do believe you’re right.” With her normal fortitude, her mother collected herself. “The seed is planted?”
Nodding, Catherine asked, “Did you pass Silas outside my door?”
“No,” her mother said. “Nor did I see him lingering outside the nursery.”
Silas’s unusual behavior and Mrs. Clarke’s tear-stained face made Catherine uneasy. “I’m so torn. I need to convey Silas’s confession to Lord Somerton, but I also wonder if I should forego visiting him tonight.”
“Why is that, dear?”
“Our unwanted guests appear out of sorts, don’t you think?”
“Not anymore than normal, but I haven’t seen either one since before you left for Bellamere’s stables.” Her mother glanced at the closed door. “If you stay, you take the risk of agitating Silas. He doesn’t seem the type one should provoke.”
Checkmate, My Lord Page 26
