Checkmate, My Lord

chapter Two


August 10

Sebastian’s chest rose high upon seeing the gray stone walls of his childhood home. Unlike him, Bellamere Park, with its clusters of square chimneys and expansive gardens, had changed little in the four years he had been away.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled the earthy scent of newly shorn grass and crisp air, never realizing until that moment how much he had missed spending time in the country, where a man concerned himself with putting food on his table, rather than preventing the next attempt on his life.

The last few months had challenged his intellect, his endurance, and his long-held beliefs on a level that frightened even him, a man jaded by intrigue and ruthless when it came to the pursuit of his objectives. Never before had he wondered if all his sacrifices, and those of his men, had been worth the price.

Not until recently.

Sebastian tried to hold on to the unusual tranquility pouring over him, but he was unsurprised when it dissipated into the biting afternoon breeze. Shrugging off his disappointment, he opened his eyes and kicked Reaper into a trot for the final quarter mile of their journey.

As he descended the low rise, he glanced to the east, toward the Ashcroft estate, and felt a sense of foreboding. Dealing with death, in all its many forms, had become part of his life. Although he could still experience remorse, pity, and sympathy, he never allowed himself to linger in the emotions for long. He could not afford to.

But the Ashcroft situation was different, more complex. More gray than black or white. His duty, first and foremost, was to England, to the security of its borders, and to the safety of its people. The needs of one woman and one little girl were secondary. They could not factor into his actions. He released a steadying breath. Not at all.

Reaper tossed his big black head and broke into a gallop. The powerful thrust forward pulled Sebastian out of his ruminations, and he tightened his grip on the reins again and loosened his thighs. His mount obeyed instantly and slowed his gait back into a trot.

He could wring Jeffrey Ashcroft’s neck for sending those letters to his wife rather than to him. He understood his caution, and the agent’s plan had been ingenious. Who would ever suspect a man of sending his wife coded messages intended for another? Ashcroft had known his wife well. Had known it was only a matter of time before she brought the letters, dotted with Sebastian’s title, to him.

The too-intelligent fool’s only mistake had been in not keeping abreast of his wife’s activities, or he would have realized she wasn’t at Winter’s Hollow to receive his correspondence. The delay had likely cost the young agent his life. Another secret to keep.

But as Jeffrey had known she would, his Catherine had traveled to London with the damned letters, and Sebastian had been forced to pretend nothing was amiss. It was a role he had played a hundred times before, though this time proved more difficult.

Every instant she turned those big brown eyes on him, he had come close to telling her everything. She had always had a disturbing effect on his control. When her husband was alive, he had found the wherewithal to fight her pull. Now that Ashcroft was dead, no more physical obstacles stood in his way. Only a ghost.

Sebastian shoved aside his pointless musings and halted Reaper outside of Bellamere’s wide double doors. An instant later, a liveried footman emerged to hold his master’s exhausted mount. After several hours in the saddle, Sebastian’s endurance had also waned. He wished now that he had sent word ahead to warn his staff of his arrival. Waiting for his chambers to be aired and linens to be laid seemed like an eternity to his crumbling strength.

By the time his foot hit the top step, though, his aging butler materialized. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

Grayson.” Sebastian smiled at his former accomplice to unspoken crimes, taking in the stooped quality of his shoulders and the deep grooves in his forehead. The man appeared to have aged a score of years since his last visit. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

Indeed not, sir. Rucker sent word ahead.”

Of course he did.” Sebastian must remember to give his London butler an extra day off for his welcome, albeit insubordinate, forethought. “Then you know Parker is following behind with my luggage.”

Indeed, sir. We’ll be on the watch for your valet.” Grayson waved his age-spotted hand toward the open door. “Per your preference, my lord, I did not assemble the staff.” His butler did an admirable job of keeping his displeasure out of his tone. “However, they are ready to serve you as needed.”

Nodding, Sebastian said, “Well done, Grayson.” He had never favored the custom of pulling the servants from their duties to line up in neat rows to bow and dip toward their employer as he majestically strolled down their center. A bunch of useless rot, as Danforth would say.

Entering the spacious Great Hall, Sebastian found it as much unchanged as the exterior of the manor. Built during the virgin queen’s reign, the Great Hall was designed to leave its visitors speechless. And it did. Whether in awe or horror depended on one’s fondness for ostentatious trimmings.

Even though he’d spent much of his childhood here, his gaze still roamed over the twin marble columns stretching three stories high. Wide Flemish tapestries lined both sides of the room, covering the upper portion of the walls, and a twenty-foot trellis table sat center-stage before a fireplace large enough to harbor an average-sized man.

His ancestors had a flair for the extravagant—not really to his taste, but he held fond memories of Bellamere Park and would always consider this his true home. He’d been away far too long, he realized with some regret.

Raised, muffled voices down the corridor drew his attention.

That would be Mr. Blake, my lord,” Grayson said.

In my study?”

Yes, sir.”

Is he with a tenant?”

No, my lord.” Grayson’s pale blue gaze shifted to the distant closed door. “Mr. Blake is speaking with your neighbor.”

Sebastian’s heart jolted. “Jeffrey Ashcroft’s widow?”

Yes, sir.”

Removing his gloves, Sebastian strove for calm. Thoughts of his fatigue evaporated. He hadn’t expected to see her this soon, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to be covered in road dust at their first meeting. “What business does Mrs. Ashcroft have with my steward?”

More of the same, I suspect.”

He stared at his butler, wondering how he was supposed to decipher the man’s remark when he hadn’t set foot on his estate in years. Pulling in a fortifying breath, he turned to find out and did his damnedest to keep his pace even, unhurried. “Thank you, Grayson. That will be all.”

As he neared his study, he noted the door was ajar. The agitated conversation from within wafted through the opening, reaching him.

The railing is completely missing, Mr. Blake,” a female voice said. “Garry Lucas came close to tumbling through the small opening and falling into the river.”

But he didn’t, Mrs. Ashcroft,” the steward said. “Had Garry’s mother kept a better eye on her son, we would not be having this conversation.”

Mr. Blake, you know as well as I that the northern bridge is a favorite thoroughfare to the village for the children.”

Sebastian recognized Mrs. Ashcroft’s voice. He leaned closer to the opening.

Mmm-hmm.”

You said the bridge railing would be fixed a fortnight ago.”

Mmm-hmm.”

When might we expect its repair, Mr. Blake?”

Mmm… soon.”

Could you please put down your brush and honor me with your full attention, sir?” Her voice held a warning edge.

The steward answered with a deep sigh, followed by the clattering sound of wood against wood. “I have heard your every word, Mrs. Ashcroft, and have responded accordingly. What else do you want from me?”

Action, Mr. Blake. I want you to care for his lordship’s tenants as is your responsibility.”

I know my responsibility.”

Then why do you ignore it?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows rose. The side of his cheek pressed against the door frame, bringing his ear closer to the conversation. He hoped Grayson or one of the other servants didn’t happen by and see him eavesdropping in his own home.

I do not ignore my duties, but I refuse to cater to the tenants’ every complaint.”

Is that not for his lordship to determine?”

Lord Somerton is not here. In his absence, he trusts me to do what’s best for the estate.”

Broken bridges are best for the estate?” Incredulity sharpened her tone.

Of course not—”

Sebastian pushed open the door, having heard enough of the steward’s feeble explanation. The moment he entered the study, his nostrils flared, assaulted by the thick, cloying smell of linseed oil and turpentine. His gaze swept across the room, taking in the dozens of amateurish oil paintings leaning against every viable surface. And some not so viable surfaces, like his mother’s two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Cassone chest.

Then he found her, standing five feet away from his steward, wearing all black as custom dictated, her blond hair knotted at the back of her head. But today, her appearance seemed more somber, more severe than when she had visited him in London. Instead of repelling him, however, her look drew forth several questions, intriguing his analytical side and capturing his attention much longer than was proper.

Excuse me, sir.” Indignation lined the steward’s brow. “What do you do here? We are in the middle of an important meeting.”

Sebastian tensed at the younger man’s tone until he realized Blake had no idea that he was speaking to his employer. Two years ago, he had hired the steward, sight unseen, on the recommendation of an acquaintance. Even though they had never met, Sebastian had corresponded frequently with the gentleman and never had cause to be concerned about his management of Bellamere.

Sparing Mrs. Ashcroft another long look, Sebastian caught the glint of righteousness sparkling in her eyes. When she noticed his attention, the sparkle brightened a moment and then dimmed until it extinguished altogether.

An odd pang of disappointment gripped his chest.

Sir? I must insist on an answer.”

Mr. Blake’s shrill command interrupted his contemplations of the widow. “A better question is,” Sebastian’s attention slowly settled on his steward, “what are you doing here? The last I recall, this was my study, not your studio.”

The steward’s face lost all color. “Lord Somerton?”

Sebastian gave him a mocking bow. “At your service.” His gaze cut back to the widow. “Mrs. Ashcroft.”

My lord,” she said with a curtsy. “Welcome back.”

The neutral tone of her voice gave Sebastian pause. What had he expected upon seeing her for the first time? A bright smile? A glimmer of warmth? Another slow perusal of his body, as she had done in London?

The answer did not come to mind. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t impassivity.

My apologies for the mess, my lord.” The steward jumped off his high stool. “Had I known you were coming, I would have removed my collection.”

Perhaps you might do so now while I speak to Mrs. Ashcroft.”

Of course.” The steward began scurrying about the room, gathering as many canvases and frames as he could carry. “Right away. I’ll call for a footman to fetch the rest.”

I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Sebastian moved to the door and held it open. “The staff are busy preparing my rooms.” He had no intention of making this easy for the man.

Mr. Blake attempted an awkward bow. “As you wish, my lord.”

Mrs. Ashcroft, please join me.”

She pulled her reticule close and glanced away as if bolstering her courage. The action was reminiscent of how she used to respond to his presence years ago. Where had the confident and determined woman from London gone? Then he recalled the conversation he had overheard between her and Mr. Blake, where she had defended the safety of Showbury’s children.

Sebastian set aside the widow’s bewildering behavior for now. To the steward, he said, “Open the windows once you’ve cleared out your possessions. Then I should like to speak with you in the library.”

Mr. Blake knocked over a jar of brushes. “Yes, sir.”

Sebastian closed the door against the steward’s fumbling attempts to clean up his mess. Of all the places the man could have set up his studio, why had he picked Sebastian’s study? It would take weeks to rid the room of such strong odors.

He set the problem from his mind and guided the widow down the corridor. “Do you have a moment? I thought perhaps we could step outside to clear our heads.”

Certainly,” she said.

He glanced down at her profile, trying to divine her thoughts, but it was no use. Somewhere along the way she had crafted an elegant mask, one with perfect neutral symmetry. It was a tactic he knew all too well.

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.