by CJ Archer
The large study on the first floor of Sutton Hall hadn't changed much since Phillip's time. The wood paneling was not covered by tapestries or portraits to soften its masculinity and coffers of varying sizes squatted on the rushes near the wide desk. One of the coffers was triple padlocked as it had been when Phillip was alive. The only difference Susanna could see was the man behind the desk and the torn pieces of paper scattered across its surface and on the floor.
Jeffrey set his pen down in its stand and gathered up the pieces. "I don't have any more timber."
And good afternoon to you too, Cousin. "I don't want more timber. I simply wanted to thank you for what you've given me already. Your man, Monk, is a good worker."
"Is he?" he said absently.
"He's strong and efficient, much like Mr. Holt."
"Your thanks are welcome but unnecessary." He screwed up the bits of parchment into a wad and threw it onto the desk. It rolled off and fell to the rushes where it broke apart. "Is there something else?"
She sat down even though he hadn't asked her to sit. "Yes. I want to know more about your man, Monk. You tell me he's trustworthy—"
"Then what else do you need to know?" He rubbed his forehead and sighed heavily.
Infuriating man. "I need to know why he's been wandering into my outbuildings for no reason. I have not directed him to do so, yet he's been seen exiting the brewery and the bakehouse, and he spent longer than necessary in the stables too. Can you be sure he's not up to something?"
The look Jeffrey gave her was one of strained patience and exhaustion. She'd never seen him look so wretched. "Susanna, I understand that your feminine nerves make you worry excessively and that you cannot help that, but—"
"Oh good lord, Jeffrey, this is nothing to do with my femininity or my nerves. It is a simple question regarding a man in your employ. Anyone would be equally cautious under the same circumstances."
"Anyone would not be equally cautious. Any man would accept his help and let him roam where he wanted to. He and I are both doing you a favor, are we not? I can't see what harm there is in letting him take a look at your outbuildings. Perhaps he is observing their construction. Have you asked him?"
"No. Nor have I asked him why there is a letter in his pack from Lord Whipple."
His gaze flickered down to the scrunched up pieces of paper on the floor and back again. It was such a rapid move that if she hadn't been looking for any sign of recognition, she wouldn't have noticed it. "A letter?"
"Yes. A letter of introduction addressed to you, as it happens."
"Ah. Of course." He leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs under the desk. "Susanna, I'm appalled at your behavior. Why were you reading a private letter not meant for your eyes?" He shook his head. "You really have lost your way these past few months, haven't you?"
"Lost my way?" she spluttered. "Jeffrey, I have a right to know everything about the people I allow onto my estate."
"Your father's estate."
"While Father is unwell, I am both master and mistress of Stoneleigh, and as such, you should show me some respect."
"I am!"
"No, Jeffrey, you are not. Everything about this conversation is condescending." Walking out now would achieve nothing. Yet staying was proving just as futile and far more frustrating.
"You came to me," he petulantly pointed out.
"Yes. I did. Now, I will say this clearly since you seem to be having trouble understanding me. Lord Whipple addressed you in the letter, which means you must have an acquaintance with him."
"A passing acquaintance only." He leaned forward and slid a piece of parchment over the top of the letter he'd been writing. He rested his elbows on it and steepled his fingers. "He thought Mr. Monk may be of use to me, hence the introduction. Except it wasn't really an introduction. I knew Monk already. He used to live near me, although we didn't associate." This last he said with a wrinkle of his nose.
"And for what reason did Whipple recommend him to you?"
"That's private, Susanna."
Another block. Her only consolation was that Jeffrey seemed to be enjoying the interrogation as little as her. Despite the coolness of the room, sweat trickled from his temple, and he had not once maintained eye contact with her. A sure sign he was lying or, at the very least, holding back something important.
"Is there anything else?" he asked. "I'm very busy as you can see."
Busy being a toad. "Nothing else for now. Perhaps I'll get a better response from your man instead."
"Monk?" He shook his head. "I would advise you not to ask Mr. Monk too many questions about his past. I suspect he doesn't like talking about it."
"Who does? But if he wants to work at Stoneleigh then he must understand he cannot wander about until I am assured he is trustworthy. We may not have much worth stealing, but that is beside the point."
He heaved in another heavy sigh. "Susanna, you are a determined female. Were you this way with Phillip?"
"Only once." And he had made her pay for her determination in the most damning way.
She could see the thoughts ticking through Jeffrey's mind, wondering what she was talking about. She didn't care. He had his secrets, and she had hers.
Sometimes she wondered what would have happened if she had become more upset over Phillip's straying ways and his forbidding her friendships. Would he have hit her again? She doubted it. That incident seemed to shake him to the core. She probably could have asked him for anything after that and he would have given it to her out of guilt.
But she didn't have the heart to make him pay. She simply no longer cared for Phillip. It was like he'd stopped existing, except for the times he came to her bed to try and get her with child again. Even then she'd neither spoken to him nor looked at him. She'd simply spread her legs and closed her eyes until he was finished.
"Good day, Jeffrey. No, don't get up. I can see myself out." She glanced at the pieces of torn parchment still on the floor and left them behind with some regret. Jeffrey didn't want her to see them, and that meant the pieces could be important.
She made her way downstairs to the kitchen and gathered up her two servants. Orlando was in the stables where she found him helping out with the horses. He had his back to the entrance as he inspected a hoof, but he must have heard their approach on the gravel.
"If you're hoping Lord Lynden will pay you," she said, "then you're out of luck. He'll argue that he didn't formally employ you, and you're not entitled to anything."
"I don't expect pay," he said. "This poor animal was in pain, and the only man who seems to know what to do is out riding with the land steward."
Warren the stable lad nodded. "The head groom," he said for Susanna's benefit then, for some reason she couldn't fathom, he blushed to the roots of his hair.
Orlando lowered the hoof and rubbed the beast's back. "All better now, girl," he said softly. "Treat her with care, Warren, and make sure your master gets some of that paste I described. The wise woman in the village should be able to make it up for you."
"Aye, Mr. Holt." Warren led the horse away.
Orlando waited until she was back in her stall and then he strode right past Susanna. She followed him out of the stables to where Silver grazed on a feed bag and watched as he hitched her to the cart.
"Still in a bad temper I see," she murmured as he removed the bag and set it aside.
The look he gave her would have frozen hot water in an instant. "Find anything useful?"
"In a way." She didn't say any more because Hendricks had climbed up onto the cart and Orlando was helping Bessie to the seat. Susanna sat beside her.
It wasn't until they were back at Stoneleigh and alone in the stables that she finally spoke to him again. "Are you still angry with me?"
He lengthened his strokes as he brushed Silver's neck. "You need to be more careful."
"I was careful. I was also perfectly safe. And if you think Jeffrey would have allowed you to accompany me into his study, you don't know him.
He would have turned you away without a second thought as to whether he'd hurt your feelings."
He stopped brushing. "You think that's what this is about? You think I care about getting my feelings hurt by your turd of a cousin-in-law?"
She gasped. He closed his mouth over hers, smothering her protest. It was a hard kiss, urgent and hungry. His fingers curled into her cloak at her back, holding her in place against him.
But the hardness quickly melted away. His mouth turned soft, his kisses slow yet somehow still urgent, possessive. The change made her body tingle as if she'd been plunged from a hot pool to a cold one and back again.
He broke the kiss and gave his attention to Silver once more. His strokes increased their rhythm. "I'm sorry," he muttered.
"Don't be." She drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves. "You're angry, but I don't think it has anything to do with your position here at Stoneleigh or my safety."
He said nothing, just kept brushing Silver with long, regular strokes.
"Do you know," Susanna said quietly, "that I know as little about you as I do about Mr. Monk?"
He paused mid-stroke. "Sometimes you don't need to have background details to truly know a person. Sometimes being intimate is enough."
"I wish that were so, but I would be a fool to believe it." She had thought she'd understood both her husbands after making love to them the first time but discovered too late that she did not. "At least I've seen a letter of recommendation for Mr. Monk. I've not seen one for you." He didn't answer her and switched his attention to Silver's tangled mane. "I know nothing of your family, your childhood, or why you like to roam across the country in search of work."
"I told you all you need to make up your mind about me," he said, without turning around. "I've mentioned my sister to you and that my father was a gardener as well. I told you where I came from. As to why I like to roam...I simply don't like being in one place for long. I grow restless."
And yet that still told her nothing. Why did he become restless? Something must have led him to want to leave his family.
As to the rest, the more she thought about it, the less it made sense. He was an articulate, clever man who could read, and yet he wanted her to believe his father was a gardener? Orlando possessed no gardening gloves, little plant knowledge, and no letter of recommendation from his previous employer. That alone made her doubt him.
"If you don't want me here," he said, patting Silver's neck, "you can ask me to leave."
Not going to him and wrapping her arms around his waist was the hardest thing. Yet she refrained. She also managed to speak with a clear, strong voice. "I don't want you to leave."
His fingers flexed around the brush. He nodded once, curt, and started brushing again. "What did you learn from Lynden?"
The tension dispersed a little but didn't disappear entirely. "He's hiding something. There was a letter he'd torn to pieces that he didn't want me to see. He was also writing something that he hid from my gaze. I tried to think of a diversion to get him out of the study, but I doubt he would have fallen for anything. He seemed quite distressed, and a man in that state doesn't suddenly forget that he's protecting a letter from prying eyes and then leave it exposed."
"And did you mention Lord Whipple to him?"
She picked up the horse blanket from where it hung on a hook. "He said he's an acquaintance. I could get no more out of him on that front."
Orlando took the blanket and their fingers touched. A jolt of heat surged across her skin.
"Will you come to me tonight?" she asked, breathy.
He didn't answer immediately, but waited until after he'd arranged the blanket over Silver's back. "I—"
The sound of approaching footsteps stopped him. Hendricks appeared at the stable entrance. "Supper's ready, m'lady." His wrinkles formed a deep frown that he directed at Orlando. "S'pose you better come in and have some too."
"Go on," Orlando said. "I'll finish up here."
She followed Hendricks out without looking back.
