Checkmate, My Lord

chapter Nine


August 13

Sebastian stood at the window of the sunny breakfast room, holding a steaming cup of coffee while awaiting Catherine’s arrival. Yesterday’s kiss fired through his mind at unexpected intervals, tying his stomach into an uncomfortable mass of need.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried once again to block out the succulent aromas of sausage, bacon, and poached eggs coming from the sideboard. He tried not to recall their texture and taste, their slow glide down his throat. Because if he did, all would be lost. A floodgate would open and last night’s indulgence would push to the fore. The coffee helped a little. When the scent of food threatened to overwhelm him, he would bury his nose in the pungent steam of his morning brew.

After forcing himself to eat a late evening meal, he had closeted himself off in the study until the wee hours of the morning. In that time, he’d added only one more name to his list of agents. His progress was slow, painful. No matter how much he reasoned this was the right course of action, each consonant and vowel ripped through him like a stab of betrayal.

Adding each agent’s code name and current location would come next, although the thought of having such damaging information in one place nauseated him all over again. But the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to see a visual map of everyone’s whereabouts. He might be missing a potential ally or an opportunity to redirect his enemy’s efforts.

If nothing else, he could transfer everything he knew to paper, study it, and then burn the record, rather than hand it over to Reeves. The strategy steadied his stomach, somewhat. Having an alternative plan—an escape route, of sorts—removed some of the pressure he’d been carrying around since receiving Reeves’s demand.

A low rumbling disturbance near the entry hall caught his attention.

Lord Somerton can finish his damned breakfast while I speak my mind,” a man said. “Stand aside, Grayson, or I shall have to…” The intruder’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, no doubt promising all sorts of retribution.

Sebastian’s former ward, Viscount Danforth, was a master of collecting secrets—of the personal variety. Even poor Grayson would not be immune to Ethan deBeau’s machinations.

Taking his seat at the table, Sebastian snapped open a copy of the Times and waited for the oncoming storm. He didn’t have long to wait.

Within seconds, heavy footsteps pounded down the corridor, and then a tall, disheveled rascal entered the breakfast room. “Somerton.”

Danforth.” Sebastian continued scanning the newspaper, waiting. Ethan’s restless energy reminded him of a warship’s 32-pounder long gun, with its dark, cavernous muzzle staring out a square gun port, primed and ready for ignition.

What brings you to Bellamere? I thought you were tracking down your mystery savior.”

Trail went cold,” Danforth grumbled, making himself a plate from the sideboard.

Your savior is going to great pains to avoid discovery.” He paused. “I wonder why.”

He felt, more than saw, Danforth’s aggrieved glance. “When I find the hooded bastard, I’ll be sure to pose your question.” His plate clattered against the table. “How are you doing?”

Sebastian raised a brow. “Well enough. And you?”

I spent four and a half hours in Superintendent Reeves’s office, answering questions about our last mission.” Danforth leveled his gaze on Sebastian. “He was inordinately interested in your role.”

Sebastian settled back in his chair, projecting a calm he did not feel. “We discussed this in London. I’m here so the Foreign Office can conduct a thorough investigation into the matter without my interference.” He rubbed his fingertips over the newspaper. “Latymer’s scheming ran deep in the organization. Reeves is no doubt wondering why I did not detect the man’s treachery. I certainly would in his shoes.” The question of why he hadn’t discerned Latymer’s double spying had weighed on his thoughts since the day they discovered Danforth’s sister, Cora—also known as the Raven—in the man’s cellar.

That’s all well and good,” Danforth said. “But I’ve already given them an accounting of those events. To have to relive it a second time was not how I had hoped to spend yesterday afternoon.”

No, I suspect not,” he said. “Did you come here only to inform me of your deposition?”

No,” he said. “Helsford’s busy with the Littleton case. So Cora asked me to retrieve Ashcroft’s remaining letters. Did the widow hand them over?”

Yes, four more.”

All is well in that regard, I take it.”

She is nothing more than a wife trying to make sense of a heinous crime,” Sebastian said. “I detect no ill intent.”

Finally a piece of good news.”

Where’s Cora?”

With Helsford, of course.” The viscount lifted a fork full of sausage to his mouth, pausing. “After surviving their recent nightmare, I doubt Helsford’s going to allow my sister to stray more than a dozen feet from his side ever again.”

Not that anyone could prevent Cora from doing anything she set her mind to. However, they had all underestimated her gaoler. A condition Sebastian had no desire to repeat. “A day or two more, and I would have delivered the letters myself,” Sebastian said. “There was no reason to make a special trip.”

That’s what I said, but my sister had other ideas.”

Falling into bad habits again?”

Cora’s been through so much,” Danforth muttered. “Directing me and Helsford around takes her mind off other things.”

Like being tortured for a fortnight. Sebastian pushed the thought away. He had already spent hours punishing himself. Right now, he needed to focus on the restless man in front of him.

Helsford asked me to deliver this.” He tossed a sealed missive onto the table. “So I can’t blame my presence entirely on Cora.” A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Although it’s a great deal more fun making the runt take responsibility.”

Sebastian smiled, his gaze sliding over the nondescript black seal. It was good to hear Danforth’s aggrieved tone. He knew when Ethan and Cora were forecasting doom upon one another that the world had somehow righted itself.

No matter how hard he’d tried to keep an emotional distance between him and his two former wards, they paid no attention. They did not fear his quelling looks or stony silence, nor his sharp rebukes. That was not to say they didn’t respect him, or give him a wide berth at times. They simply kept coming around, invading his home at unexpected times—like now—and spoke to him as they would any intimate colleague. It was maddening and, if he were honest, comforting.

Danforth,” Sebastian said, “there is no need for you to stay. I have a few ends to tie up here over the next sennight and then I’ll be returning to London.”

What of the Foreign Office’s investigation?”

What of it?” he asked. “I’ve nothing to hide. It’s my agents’ identities I’m most concerned about, but I’m starting to question my decision on that score.”

A stunned expression crossed Danforth’s face. “You can’t allow them access to our identities, Chief.” The viscount reverted to the form of address most of the Nexus agents used. “It would make us all vulnerable.”

Yes,” Sebastian agreed. “But it might be even more dangerous to have all the knowledge stored in one man’s memory.”

Danforth’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

That’s a naive perspective, Danforth, and you know it.”

The younger man stared down at his plate, his hands gripping his utensils with bruising force. “Everything is changing.”

Yes.”

Well, I don’t bloody like it.”

Few of us do.”

The viscount crammed half a piece of toast into his mouth, chewing with such vigor that Sebastian was certain the man’s jaw would ache later.

What now, sir?”

Sebastian toyed with the stem of his glass. “Return to London and continue to keep an eye on Reeves. Let me know if you perceive a significant shift in the superintendent’s intentions.” He dropped the sealed missive on the table. “I have the letters for Helsford, too.”

The tension visibly eased from Danforth’s shoulders. “Consider it done, Chief.” He began stuffing his mouth full of Cook’s famous hot cakes.

Pardon, my lord,” Grayson said from the breakfast room doorway. “Mrs. Ashcroft has arrived.”

Danforth slowly transferred his attention from the hot cakes to Grayson, a rogue’s grin spreading across his handsome face.

Sebastian’s muscles stiffened at the sight, and he fought to keep his features neutral. “Behave.”

The bastard’s smile grew brighter.

Grayson, show her into the study. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The butler bowed. “Yes, sir.”

Having breakfast with Ashcroft’s widow,” Danforth said. “No wonder you wanted me to rush back to London.” His expression turned serious. “Have you told her yet?”

Sliding back his chair, Sebastian said, “Concentrate on Reeves and Ashcroft’s messages. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I hope you know what you’re doing,” the viscount said, rising.

Godspeed, Danforth.”

Danforth’s brows rose. “At least introduce me.”

No.” Sebastian set off for his study, his pulse picking up speed with every step. “Go away.”

Come now, Chief,” Danforth said. “Not even a quick hello?”

Sebastian grasped the study’s door handle. “There would be nothing quick about your greeting. Now, off with you.” He opened the door, saw the widow leaning against the far side of his desk, and felt a frisson of warmth settle into his chest.

A low whistle sounded from behind him. Sebastian stepped inside and shut the door in Danforth’s face.

The abrupt noise startled her, and she jumped back. “My lord?”

Forgive me, a draught caught the door.” She looked even lovelier today than yesterday. Wisps of blond hair curled against her flushed cheeks, and her graceful neck rose above a round neckline that hinted at a full bosom any man would admire.

Good morning.” She walked over to the edge of his desk and tapped her finger against a sheet of a paper. “Here is the schedule.”

He joined her at the desk, his chest inches from her shoulder while he studied her well-organized itinerary. The moment he caught her delicate fragrance, the page blurred and the room dimmed. Heat raced across his flesh, and his muscles contracted with the strength of his need.

He turned his head a fraction. “Did you sleep well, Mrs. Ashcroft?”

She did not look up from the schedule. “W-well—” she cleared her throat. “Well enough.”

I did not.” Instead of focusing on his task for Reeves and solving the mystery of Ashcroft’s death, he had created inventive ways to entice the fair widow into his bed. When he had finally managed to fall asleep, he awoke not long after, sweating and aching and cock in hand.

She was dangerous—to his peace of mind and to his mission. And he didn’t bloody well care. For the first time since becoming chief of the Nexus, he would put his own selfish needs before England’s and damn the consequences.

He caressed her cheek, needing the contact and yearning for the connection that could only be had while looking into another’s eyes. She met his gaze then with fathomless brown eyes, soft with budding desire and an enchanting trepidation. The need to possess burned through his veins. He wanted this woman like none other.

Perhaps tonight, I might enjoy a more pleasurable slumber.”

Her eyes flared wide. She might not have a courtesan’s polish, but she was experienced enough in the ways of men to glean his invitation.

A sharp rap at the door shattered the moment. “Chief, I believe you had something you wanted me to deliver.”

Sebastian cursed beneath his breath and thought of the many ways in which he would make Danforth pay for this intrusion.

Chief?” she asked.

He waved off the viscount’s careless comment. “Lord Danforth’s humor. Ignore it. Or at least, try.” He bent and placed a kiss where his finger had lingered. “I’ll be back in a moment to take you to breakfast. Make yourself comfortable.”

***

Catherine followed the earl’s determined strides, fighting the violent urge to halt his retreat and beg him to continue with his gentle assault on her senses. She released a low, shuddering breath. Like the day before, his touch awakened stirrings that had lain dormant for years. Years where her blood had moved through her veins with boring efficiency.

But not yesterday and not a few minutes ago. She smoothed her hand over her tight chest, recalling their passionate kiss. Never had she been so consumed by the press of a man’s lips. Had he not pulled away, Catherine was ashamed to think of what might have happened in the library. In the light of day. With her daughter playing just outside.

No, Lord Somerton made her blood sing with life. But why? From the moment she had visited him in London, he had treated her with cool reserve. Where had the warmth come from? The passion? The need?

The earl jerked the study door open, and Catherine saw the attractive visage of a gentleman in his late twenties. He flashed her an appreciative smile.

Good morning, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He pushed his way past a scowling Lord Somerton and bowed before her, lifting her hand to his mouth. Then he paused to raise an inquiring brow toward the earl.

Lord Somerton sighed. “Viscount Danforth, may I present Mrs. Ashcroft.”

The gentleman smiled and kissed the back of her fingers. Catherine needed no introduction, though. The few times Lord Danforth had graced Bellamere’s corridors he’d set off a feminine hum of excitement all over Showbury. Although she had only seen him from afar, he was as startlingly handsome as she remembered. With his charm and striking features, he was assured a spot in every young girl’s heart. Even Catherine found herself grinning at his antics. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Danforth.”

He released her hand and glanced around. “What brings you to Somerton’s lair this morning?”

None of your business.” Lord Somerton indicated the door. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”

Danforth glanced between her and the earl, a devilish look in his eye. “But the company is so much more pleasant here.”

A situation easily remedied.”

Catherine glanced up at the earl, unsure if the threatening note in his words were made in jest or in warning. His crystalline eyes were fixed on the viscount; they glowed with an unearthly foreboding. She transferred her attention to Lord Danforth and found his face wiped clean of all humor and the slightest bit of wariness dampening his features.

A moment later, Danforth blew out a beleaguered breath. “The package?”

The tension in Lord Somerton’s shoulders eased but did not go away. Their silent battle of wills confused Catherine. The earl’s reaction to the viscount’s playfulness seemed cold, even for him.

To Catherine, the earl said, “I will return in a few minutes. With any luck, your breakfast will still be warm.”

Danforth bowed. “My apologies, dear lady. I did not mean to keep you from your morning meal. I look forward to the time when our paths cross again.”

Catherine curtsied. “As do I.”

Come, Danforth.” Lord Somerton did not wait to see if the viscount would do as commanded. He simply turned and left the room.

Danforth winked at her and followed the earl at a more languid pace. And then, through the closed door, she heard the first notes of a merry whistle.

Catherine’s smile faded, wondering about the package Lord Somerton was so keen on sending to London. And why had Lord Danforth referred to the earl as “chief”? Her mind cast about for something familiar and solid. Something safe. The schedule of repairs she had developed lay in the center of his desk. Desk.

The reddish-brown grains gleamed invitingly, tauntingly. They seemed to eddy down toward the nearest drawer handle, tempting her. Fear seared her heart. Dare she peek into the desk drawers of England’s spymaster?

She glanced at the closed study door. Would he really keep sensitive information in such an accessible location? Surely, he would not be so trusting, even in the country. Doubtful, but passing up a rare opportunity like this would be foolhardy. Cochran would return soon, and he would expect something tangible to pass on to his superior.

She rushed to open the first drawer. A stack of pristine paper, with his family’s seal emblazoned at the top, sticks of red sealing wax, and several uncut quill nibs met her hurried inspection. Pulling the drawer out farther, she groped blindly behind the mound of paper for anything unusual and came up with nothing but dusty fingers.

Even as she tried the second drawer, her conscience screamed with guilt. She couldn’t stop wondering at the veracity of Cochran’s assertions about the earl. Leading a secret group of agents did not make him a murderer, or even a double spy. There could be any number of reasons why the viscount called Lord Somerton by that unusual epithet, although none came to mind.

But more importantly, the more she spoke to Cochran, the more her suspicions were aroused. Something about the tenor of their last discussion made her feel unclean and off-centered. Cochran’s demeanor seemed more predatory during their second meeting, far less congenial than their first. But maybe her insistence they postpone their conversation simply put him in a foul mood.

Despite her concerns, Catherine pressed on. If she could find one thing that would either prove the earl’s innocence or point to those responsible for Jeffrey’s death, all this subterfuge would be worth the risk.

A noise from the far end of the corridor caught her attention. She angled her head, listening. Then came the distinctive sound of a man’s heavy tread. She quickly shut the drawers and straightened his desk. The footsteps grew louder, closer.

She leaned forward to grab a quill and the ink blotter shifted, sliding to the right a few inches and nearly knocking off a stack of ledgers. She scooted the books back in place and made to do the same with the blotter when she noticed a sheet of paper beneath. Could this be the list? The footsteps stopped outside the door. Out of time.

Her heart pushed into her throat, and she hurried to straighten the blotter and dip the pen into the inkwell. She scribbled a word into one of the columns, praying the frantic beating of her heart was noticeable only to her ears.

The study door swung open, and Lord Somerton filled the frame. Once again, his big body held her spellbound and made her feel achingly feminine. She followed the path of his penetrating gaze—over her body, the desk, and the surrounding area. A flush burned its way up her neck and fanned out over her cheeks.

Setting the pen aside, she rose. “I hope you don’t mind, my lord. You did say to make myself comfortable, and I had an overwhelming urge to sit behind this massive desk.”

My grandfather had it commissioned years ago. It’s a great heap of wood that takes up far too much space.”

She stepped away to give the desk a better look. “The craftsmanship is quite stunning.”

So it is.”

When Catherine glanced back at him, she found his attention was no longer on his grandfather’s desk, but on her. The hunger in his gaze was both compelling and oddly bleak. She parted her lips to release a low, shuddering breath, then looked away.

He moved farther into the room, motioning for her to join him. He must have sensed her struggle, for his face was now devoid of expression; no trace of his sensual yearning remained.

Shall we discuss your schedule while working our way through a cold plate of food?”

By all means.” She scooped up the schedule. “I’m ready.”

While they strode toward the breakfast room, Catherine considered the hidden sheet of paper. Could it contain the information Mr. Cochran sought? A list of traitors that would somehow implicate Lord Somerton as their leader?

She still didn’t know how the list would be useful for her cause. Would he somehow be able to identify Jeffrey’s killer? So many questions with too few answers. All this subterfuge made her head hurt.

Another headache?”

Catherine stopped the circular motion of her fingers against her temple and gripped the schedule with both hands. “No, my lord. I simply have much on my mind.”

He held out a chair for her. “Would you care to share?”

N-no, thank you,” she said, startled by his question. “You have enough to worry about without adding my concerns.”

At the sideboard, he lifted silver domes and began filling their plates. The sight struck Catherine as odd. Never had she expected to be served breakfast by an earl.

It would relieve my mind to think on something else for a while, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He placed a mounding plateful of food in front of her. “What taxes you so?”

Telling him the truth was out of the question, so she settled on a topic close to her heart. One in which he could find little fault. She spooned a dollop of jam onto her toast. “Jeffrey’s letters, my lord. I confess I am more than anxious to hear of your assessment.”

Silence. Under the cover of her lashes, Catherine chanced a peek at the earl. He appeared inordinately focused on cutting up his food—all of his food—into bite-size pieces.

Finally, he said, “You were right.”

She raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

As you said in London, there was something peculiar about his messages.” He stabbed several pieces of mutilated sausage with his fork. “Now that I have the rest of Ashcroft’s correspondence, I’m hoping some of the questions that arose in the first batch will be answered in the second.”

What if they’re not?”

He didn’t bother looking up. “It’s best not to speculate. Allow me to analyze the lot and we shall go from there.”

He was keeping something from her. Anger coiled in her heart like an asp getting ready to strike. She knew the emotion was ridiculous, especially after all that Cochran had conveyed about him. But she had revealed details about her marriage to this man that she had never discussed with another. Not even her mother.

In the same carefully modulated tone he’d used on her, she said, “Perhaps it is time for me to journey back to London.”

Why is that?” His utensils clattered against his plate.

She ignored the undercurrent of danger lurking beneath his words. “Sitting idle, waiting for news, goes against my nature. I must do something. Maybe I can call upon Jeffrey’s friend from the city to escort me to my husband’s various haunts. Someone must have seen something of note the night he was murdered.” The thought of calling upon Cochran made her stomach quiver.

Is this the same gentleman I saw leaving your home the other morning?”

For some inexplicable reason, Catherine felt a modicum of relief that the earl hadn’t been able to identify his colleague from such a distance.

She nodded, barely able to hold his gaze. “Yes.”

His name, Mrs. Ashcroft?”

Every question he threw at her carried the sting of authority. Even though his features revealed nothing of his thoughts, his watchful eyes sharpened while awaiting her answer. Catherine’s inexperience with prevarication left her indecisive. However, everything inside her rebelled against revealing Cochran’s name to this man.

John Chambers,” she said, relying on her instincts. “Do you know him?”

I’m afraid not.”

Catherine’s bravado returned enough for her to prod him. “He mentioned something about my husband working with the Foreign Office. Have you heard anything of the sort, my lord?”

His blue-gray eyes flared for an instant before he severed the connection long enough to drain the last of his coffee. “Mrs. Ashcroft, we do not yet know what we are up against regarding your husband’s death. Any sleuthing on your part will only redirect our attention and slow the process down.”

She dropped her untouched toast onto her plate and rubbed the bread crumbs between her fingers. “I am sorry to hear that, because I must do something besides this incessant waiting.”

He indicated her schedule. “You will be.”

It’s not the same, my lord, and you know it.”

You are set on this course, I see.”

Yes.”

Using a serviette, he wiped his mouth. Catherine could almost hear his keen mind searching for a way to stop her.

Then there is something I must tell you.”

Apprehension cut through her anger. Would he finally reveal all? In a show of nonchalance, Catherine followed the earl’s lead and dabbed her mouth. “Oh?”

Danforth brought some disturbing news from London.”

Her pulse pounded so hard, she could actually feel her flesh lifting at her neck. “Does this have something to do with my husband?”

I’m afraid so.”

With uncharacteristic fervor, she bent forward and placed her fingers on the back of his hand. “Please tell me, my lord. No matter how difficult. Not knowing is worse than any news you could deliver.”

He stared at her hand for a long time and then the bones of his fingers curled into a fist, and his lips thinned into a hard line. He shifted his arm, breaking their contact. The room’s temperature plummeted, as did Catherine’s hopes.

With any luck, Mrs. Ashcroft,” he gathered his utensils again, “you will be spared from ever experiencing the innocence of your statement.” He layered food onto the tines of his fork, his movements careful, precise. “As to your husband, I’ve received word that he was being followed, which might explain some of the comments he made in his correspondence.”

For several agonizing seconds, Catherine waited for him to expound, but he seemed disinclined to further discussion. In fact, he appeared the portrait of a man who often dined alone and was quite content with his state.

Except for his glowing eyes. Although he did an admirable job keeping them downcast, disconnected, Catherine caught brief glimpses of the fire burning in their frigid depths. She shivered, unsure what to make of this complicated man.

Why would anyone be following Jeffrey?” she asked. “Do you think it has something to do with his Foreign Office connection?”

I have told you all I know, madam.”

Why would I not make the trip then? The answers lie in London, not Showbury.”

He stabbed his fork into a slice of bacon and conveniently stuffed it into his stubborn mouth. “As are Ashcroft’s pursuers, madam.”

So your reticence is due to your fear for my safety.”

He carefully lowered his utensils and leaned back in his chair, directing those incredible eyes—no longer glowing—at her. “Did you trust your husband, Mrs. Ashcroft?”

Pardon?”

Your husband,” he repeated. “Did you trust him?”

Before the last few years, Catherine could have answered the earl with an unequivocal “yes.” Now, however, she was less certain of her answer. Trust had as many facets as a superbly cut diamond. Depending on the light, the gemstone’s aspect either sparkled and gleamed or appeared gray and almost colorless.

Catherine saw a lot of gray in Jeffrey’s actions. He had provided for them, making sure they had wanted for nothing. But emotionally, her husband had long ago left their world colorless and empty. How does one trust a spouse capable of such callous disregard?

There was a time when I trusted him implicitly, my lord.”

He studied her with an intensity that rattled her nerves. “During that time, did Ashcroft ever mention me?” When she raised her eyebrows, he clarified. “Or more specifically, my character?”

Yes, numerous times, in fact. Her husband’s fascination with the earl was one of those areas Catherine never comprehended. Lord Somerton had always been cordial and pleasant to her at gatherings, but no one she knew besides Jeffrey had ever penetrated the thick, immovable barrier that surrounded him.

My husband held great admiration for you.”

His gaze became even more piercing. “Try to hold on to that knowledge as we maneuver through the next several days.”

Catherine was torn. She wanted to bring about a resolution to this whole intolerable affair. Yet the earl’s request carried a note of calming sincerity she couldn’t ignore. “You know more about my husband’s death than you’re willing to share, don’t you, my lord?”

His gaze did not flicker, nor did he answer her question.

How much longer do you need to sort out whatever it is that needs sorting?”

A few days.”

A few days. They would be the most interminable of her life.

Perhaps your daughter might like a tour of my stables.”

Shock made her stare at him like an addled resident of Bedlam. “You are inviting Sophie into your stables?”

Consider it a birthday gift.”

Her eyes narrowed. “A rather generous one, given your aversion to children.”

I do not dislike children. I simply prefer them not to be underfoot.” He tossed his serviette onto the table. “I’ll make an exception for Sophie’s birthday.”

Catherine was not convinced. “This feels like a rather masterful bit of redirection, my lord.”

Not so masterful if you saw through my ploy.”

For my daughter’s happiness,” she said, “I’m inclined to allow it. But only for a few days.”

He nodded, accepting her challenge.

She recalled the request Sophie had made on the way home from church. “This might be a good time to extend my daughter’s invitation.”

He straightened. “To what?”

To her birthday celebration,” she said. “Your daring rescue the other day has secured you an introduction to Castle Dragonthorpe.”

His eyebrow rose in inquiry. “Castle Dragonthorpe?”

A project she started with her father,” she said around a lump in her throat. “All you have to do is dutifully place any new pieces—warriors, farm animals, torture devices—where she points. The furniture, I’m told, is my responsibility.”

His features softened, and Catherine wondered about his insistence to keep Sophie away from his estate.

I thank you and Sophie for the kind invitation.” He indicated the schedule. “Shall we?”

Not exactly a refusal or acceptance. He was rather adept at avoidance and redirection. “Of course.” She spent the next ten minutes detailing her recommendations and offering possible solutions. Every once in a while, she would send the earl a sideways glance to gauge his reaction. He remained as impassive as ever, but attentive.

Well done, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He folded the sheet of paper and slid it into his coat pocket.

Once you meet with the craftsmen and discuss time frames and repair costs, I can fill in those columns,” she said.

Then all that would be left is the Date Completed column.”

Thus ending our partnership.”

His eyelids lowered. “Would you accompany me to meet with the men?”

There was no dearth of surprises when she was around this man. “I’m not opposed to doing so, but may I ask why?”

A good question.” His lips tilted into a faint, self-deprecating smile. “Two reasons come to mind. The first—the denizens of Showbury respect and trust you. If I arrive on their doorstep with you in tow, my reception will be much more pleasant than my last attempt to mend relations.”

His cutthroat logic made the situation feel mechanical, rather than a genuine wish to win over the craftsmen. And then there was her role in the matter. He had relegated her to an adornment, there to bring respectability to his visit. “It is good to be useful, I suppose.”

I have offended you.”

No.” She searched for the appropriate words. “Your logic is sound, as always.”

But?”

Showbury’s residents are a hard-working, somewhat suspicious, and always prideful bunch,” she said. “If you approach them as Lord of the Manor, my presence will have no effect.”

What do you suggest I do, Mrs. Ashcroft?”

Act as though you care, my lord.”

You think I don’t?”

His swift dealings with Mr. Blake indicated, if not a care for his tenants, a belief in doing his duty by them. He had also saved Sophie from a great embarrassment. However, this issue of keeping vital information about her husband from her pointed to a more calculating side of his character. “I really couldn’t say. You have a way of muddling one’s perception of you.”

Do I?”

Fire trailed up the back of her neck as she cleared her throat. “And your second reason?”

One I should probably not share with you, given our previous discussion.” His elbow rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers idly rubbed along his lower lip. “But I will. It is best if you understand.”

A tremor started way down deep in the center of her body and slowly worked its way to the very tips of her extremities. She curled her fingers and waited. “Understand what?”

The danger you’re in.”