Brenna wrinkled her nose as she thought that through. “I suppose that means the appropriate moment you were waiting for occurred this evening.”
Quinn jerked his head in a quick negative. “Received a new message. Said I should proceed as quickly as possible.”
“And do you have any particular suspects?” Brenna found that she rather dreaded his response.
The assassin said nothing for a moment, while his expression remained as inscrutable as ever.
“If you’re trying to spare my feelings, please don’t bother.” Brenna tugged her wrap closer against a sudden chill. “You think it’s a Seagrave.”
“No proof.”
Which wasn’t the same thing as saying he didn’t suspect one of them. But which one? If she were going to choose a family member to suspect of murder, who would it be?
Her father would have been the obvious choice, had he not been missing for so long. Eland certainly bore her enough antipathy, but where would he have gotten the money to hire an assassin? And Louise? What reason could she possibly have to invite Brenna for a visit only to have her killed? Brenna couldn’t imagine, but she also couldn’t shake the idea that Louise was the most likely of the three.
“Do you have a guess?” she asked hesitantly, reluctant to hear Quinn’s answer.
“I do.” Cryptic, and therefore completely typical of him.
“You’re not going to share, are you?”
His eyes bored into hers. “Your instincts are good. What do they tell you?”
She answered without hesitation. “Louise.”
Quinn very loudly said nothing.
Brenna wished she could feel shocked by his suspicions, but she didn’t even feel sad. The idea was simply cold and hard, like ice around her heart.
“It will do nothing to change your assessment,” she informed Quinn, “but you should know that I may have interfered with her romantic pursuit of a neighboring lord earlier today. She clearly never intended for us to meet, and now he seems to be considering transferring his attentions—to me.” It proved surprisingly easy to remain emotionally detached from the information, as though she were relating distant, meaningless facts. “If I read the situation aright, Louise was hoping to convince this man that she’s a wealthy widow and would make a fabulous wife for an older, impoverished peer with an estate to refurbish.”
“Does he know she’s not?”
“Not wealthy, or not a widow?” Brenna quipped, but sobered immediately. “I can’t tell what he knows.” Brenna wasn’t sure whether Lord Griffin’s perception was up to the task of unraveling the web of Louise’s delusions. “He called us both ‘Lady Seagrave’ in the same breath. It doesn’t seem to occur to him that it’s improper for her to claim the title, so he may also not realize that she’s effectively penniless. I wouldn’t realize it myself if I had nothing to go on but this house.”
“Is he someone you know from court?”
“Never met him before. His name is Rommel Griffin.”
Brenna had the privilege of watching an actual expression appear on Quinn’s face. It lasted for no more than an instant, but she thought it might have been surprise. And possibly even respect.
“You know him,” she accused.
“We’ve met in an official capacity,” Quinn confirmed.
It was Brenna’s turn for surprise. “You’ve tried to assassinate him before?” she asked suspiciously.
“We’ve worked together.”
Her eyes narrowed. “For Lady Norelle?”
Quinn shrugged. “She prefers not to disclose the identities of her agents, even to each other.”
Outrage competed with embarrassment as Brenna recalled her performance at Lord Griffin’s estate. If he was actually one of Lizbet’s spies… “Well, if it’s true, he now believes I’m a perfect ninny, so I doubt he suspects me of anything remotely clandestine.”
But what was a Crown agent doing here? Why would he have moved to such an out-of-the-way part of the kingdom, and be acting like a dull-witted fool, unless…
Brenna cursed under her breath. Of course. But why hadn’t Lizbet told her she had someone watching Louise Seagrave? If her suspicions were that comprehensive, couldn’t she have just told Brenna the truth?
The realization stung, but Brenna could guess why she hadn’t. Lizbet wouldn’t have wanted to poison her protégée’s attempt to re-establish a relationship with her family. Especially if Lizbet’s worries proved to be unfounded. But if Quinn’s suspicions about his contract were true…
Brenna drew in a breath as she connected the events of the day with Faline’s news, and added what she’d just learned. “And here I’ve been thinking Lord Griffin’s wits are as agile as the average milk cow. He has someone working here. He invited us to his estate to get us out of the way while his man searched Louise’s papers.”
“Do you know if he found anything?”
“No.” She folded her arms and scowled at the floor. And she couldn’t ask Faline to investigate further. The maid would certainly do it, but it might endanger her should anyone happen to catch her snooping.
“Then I’ll pay Lord Griffin a visit,” Quinn said, as though he was in the habit of dropping in on lords without waiting for an invitation. Which, come to think of it, he probably was.
“Would it be too much to ask for you to terrify him at least as badly as you terrified me? He deserves it after his ridiculous performance.”
“I’m an assassin,” Quinn said coldly. “Not a performing monkey. And Lord Griffin isn’t afraid of me.”
Brenna stared at him for a moment. She had never heard him admit such a thing before. If Rom was indeed unafraid of Quinn, she would need to step cautiously indeed, though she still had every intention of paying him back for pretending to be a fool. She would simply have to do so carefully. And have very pointed words with Lizbet once she returned to Evenleigh.
“Very well,” she said with a sigh. “No terrifying Lord Griffin. What ought I do while I’m waiting for news?”
“Disappear.”
Wait, what?
“What do you mean, disappear?” she asked incredulously. “I can’t disappear. I have a maid and a carriage. They’re difficult to hide. If you want me to go home, just say so.”
“If you try to leave by any of the normal methods, I believe you’ll find that one of your carriage wheels was removed for repair only a few hours ago and your driver isn’t feeling well.”
As excuses, they sounded implausible. As reality…
“You’re not making this up, are you?” A surge of pure outrage scorched through Brenna’s veins and left her seething. “If I grant you that these are most likely not coincidence, I still don’t understand the reasons. What does she gain from my death? Why invite me here only to kill me in a way that throws the greatest possible suspicion on her?”
“According to my instructions, you are meant to die fleeing the estate,” Quinn said flatly.
Brenna thought about that. “So she invites me here in order to establish that she’s just trying to be a caring mother, then irritates me beyond all reason so that I want to leave. She makes it impossible for me to depart by carriage, leaving me open to all manner of accidents that can be made to look entirely natural.”
Quinn didn’t answer, which was just as good as a nod from anyone else.
“Why not just have me killed in Evenleigh?”
“Too many questions. Witnesses.”
That much was true. Had Brenna suddenly turned up dead at Evenburg, Lady Norelle would have moved mountains to uncover the reason.
“But we still have the question of motive,” she went on doggedly. “What does she stand to gain from all of this? If I die, the estate passes to Kyril, not to her.”
“The presence of Lord Griffin indicates that Lady Norelle is likewise concerned with Louise’s motives.”
Brenna tapped a toe on the floor. “But Lord Griffin was assigned before I became involved at all. Before Louise even sent my invi
tation. He must be investigating something else. Is it her money? There’s certainly far more of it in this place than anyone knew she had access to.” As far as Brenna could tell, none of it made any sense. “I still don’t understand why she didn’t have me killed somewhere else and avoid suspicion entirely. She hired the best. Doesn’t she trust you?”
“No one who hires an assassin is complacent enough to trust one,” Quinn answered flatly. “And she would have been questioned no matter where you died.”
“So she thought it better to establish her goodwill first?” Brenna couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Look, you’ve already indicated you don’t have proof, so all of this is just conjecture. We can’t accuse her of anything, and if we’re going to find evidence of guilt, we’ll need her to try again. What good does it do me to disappear?”
“My instructions indicated a preference that you die in an accident,” Quinn said. “In the forest.”
“So if I leave, she’ll assume I’m dead and possibly tip her hand,” Brenna mused.
“It also rules out any other direct attempts once she realizes I’ve failed her. In this case, I wouldn’t hesitate to expect poison.”
Brenna shivered in spite of herself. How was she having a conversation about potentially being poisoned by her mother? And why wasn’t she making more of an effort to protest that Louise could still be innocent?
“What about Faline?” was the only protest she could muster. “I can hide effectively enough, but she’s no spy, and two people are harder to conceal than one.”
“Leave her here,” Quinn said.
“I will not leave my maid to Louise’s revenge,” Brenna snapped, outraged at his callousness. “Faline is a friend, and I do not abandon my friends.”
Quinn looked bored. “She’ll be in no danger, especially if she has no idea where you’ve gone. A second death would cause too much scrutiny.”
Brenna stared at him. “What do you mean she’ll have no idea where I’ve gone?”
He didn’t respond.
“You mean now, don’t you? You want me to crawl out that window right this minute and disappear into the night.”
“Is that a problem?” Trust Quinn to take a poke at her professional pride.
“No, but it’s terribly inconvenient and I think I hate you a little right now.”
“Most people do.” Another man might have looked hurt, but Quinn’s face didn’t even twitch. “I’ll see you out to the road and then you’re on your own. Your maid will be told that you’re well after she’s established her innocence. Once I’ve met with Lord Griffin, I’ll find you and let you know whenever it’s safe for you to resume your usual activities.”
“And do you anticipate that moment coming soon, sir?” Brenna grumbled, as she moved towards the wardrobe and began digging through it, throwing things she might need into a pile on the floor.
“That will depend on Lord Griffin.”
“I’m not sure I approve of Lord Griffin being in any way responsible for my future,” she muttered, knowing it probably wasn’t fair, but reluctant to relinquish so much control over her own life. How could she be certain he would be careful and thorough in his search for evidence? How could she trust that he wouldn’t leave her in the dark for days, wondering what was happening and whether someone still wanted her dead?
“Lady Norelle trusts him.”
“But what if he isn’t able to find any evidence or motive, for this or anything else?”
Quinn shrugged. “Then that’s up to Lady Norelle.”
Her head still out of sight in the wardrobe, Brenna rolled her eyes. The man was just as impossible as she remembered.
“You’re not making this any easier, Quinn. How far do I need to go?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll still find you.”
She jerked her head out of the wardrobe. “So sure, are you? What if I decide I’m fed up with this whole countessing business and run away to… I don’t know, Erath or something? I bet Mr. Delaney at least would be glad to see me.”
“Unless he’s found a new Mrs. Delaney,” Quinn said dryly, in the closest Brenna had ever heard him come to humor.
“Fine.” She grabbed a bag and began stuffing her chosen articles into it, finishing with a comb and her cosmetics off the bureau. Stepping behind the dressing screen, she donned a plain bodice and skirt, with breeches underneath. Faline had thoughtfully packed her favorite boots, so once she tied them up, stuffed a knife down each one and tied her hair up in a scarf, she was ready.
“Any last words of wisdom?”
“Don’t let assassins into your room.”
Brenna actually chuckled. “I can’t believe I used to think you didn’t have a sense of humor. You really do, it’s just so bizarre that most people mistake your jokes for threats on their lives.”
Quinn didn’t even blink. “I never joke about my job.”
“In that case, I’ll be sure to lock my windows in the near future. Thank you for the warning, and if anything happens to Faline, I promise I will hold you personally responsible and take any damages out on your person, assassin or no.”
“Duly noted.” The irritating man moved towards the window. “Do you require further assistance?”
“I’m a spy, Quinn, whether or not you choose to forget it. Do you really think I need help getting out a window?”
Something that was almost a smile crossed his face. “Until next time then.” He disappeared in the space of a blink and Brenna found herself letting out a long breath of both irritation and… relief. She was deeply, embarrassingly relieved.
Not by Quinn’s absence—she had been oddly happy to see him. No, she was relieved to be climbing out a window in the dead of night, on her way to who knew where, to take up some sort of haphazard life until she could learn the truth of who had hired Quinn to kill her. All the while keeping her eye out for further assassination attempts and supporting herself in a strange place where she knew no one at all.
As she made her way carefully to the ground, Brenna considered the possibilities. It was going to have to be Camber, at least to start. Once there, she could reconsider her options and weigh the dangers of staying close with the desire to obtain information on her own.
It was eight miles to Camber, but Brenna had never been afraid of a little walking. Walking in the dark? That didn’t scare her either. Especially not through the densely wooded countryside. Out there was nothing to fear but wild things, creatures that would much prefer to leave her alone. Had it been the city? That would have been another thing entirely. Humans were far more terrifying predators than anything that lurked beneath the trees.
Those eight miles would also give her time to decide what she wanted to do, and who she wanted to be. She’d had more fake identities than some girls had dresses, and tried her hand at a number of unusual jobs. If she decided to stay, Camber was large enough that she should be able to find something, though small enough that it would be difficult to truly disappear.
A challenge! As Brenna set off through the shadows, a thrill of excitement shot through her and a grin crossed her lips. She hadn’t had this much fun in ages. The real danger was not so much that someone might try to kill her—she was rather hoping they would. The bigger problem was that she might enjoy it too much to want to go back.
Chapter 6
Dear Sir,
Please inform me of your success or failure at your earliest convenience or I shall be forced to consider this matter unresolved. Might I remind you that your terms have been met and your fee has been promptly paid? While I congratulate you on managing the matter of your target’s disappearance, the lack of proof of your complete and final success is unacceptable. I should hardly need to explain to a professional of your reputation that a few drops of blood on the carpet cannot be considered evidence of anything. If I have not received an explanation of either your progress or your future plans within three days, you may find it difficult to obtain further contracts.
- Grim Hill<
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Rom stalked across his study, wearing a path from the desk to the window as he seethed with fear and no small amount of fury. A message had arrived, early, from Crestwood, with strange and disturbing information—Lady Seagrave was missing from the house and presumed dead.
Her driver had been found ill and nearly unconscious in the carriage house. One of her carriage wheels, which had been removed for repair, was nowhere to be found. And then there was the tiny matter of her maid, who had succumbed to violent hysterics when she discovered bloodstains on the floor of her mistress’s room.
All of it pointed to foul play, and Rom didn’t feel the need to guess at who might be responsible. But he still had no proof. Danward had come up with nothing during his search of Louise’s study, and reported in his hastily dashed-off note that his mistress had apparently fallen into a dead faint at the news of her daughter’s disappearance and evident murder.
If Louise had indeed been responsible, Rom might very well end up blaming himself. If he hadn’t flirted with the daughter, giving the older woman the idea that her pursuit of him was hopeless, she would most likely have never stooped to such a violent act. And poor Lady Seagrave—the young countess was so guileless, she would have been caught entirely by surprise by any violence against her person. She wouldn’t have stood a chance against her mother’s machinations, and Rom should have had the sense to warn her.
If she would have had the sense to listen, which he doubted.
He was staring out the window when he became aware that someone else was in his study. It wasn’t the sound—the person was incredibly stealthy—but the feeling of presence. As if the room was no longer as empty as it should have been. Rom considered the likely points of entry and determined that the intruder had probably been there since before his own arrival.
“If you have something to say, I would appreciate your brevity. I prefer to pace without an audience.”
“Well done, Lord Griffin.”
Rom turned to see a familiar sandy-haired man perched on the edge of his desk as though he owned it.
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