Checkmate, My Lord

chapter Eight


August 12

Mama, I have to go.”

Sophie’s indelicate comment took a moment to penetrate the dark layer of Catherine’s thoughts. She had not been able to focus on anything since her disturbing discussion with Cochran yesterday and Lord Somerton’s unexpected—although brief—appearance at Winter’s Hollow. As a result, her talk with Meghan McCarthy had the same dismal results as previous attempts they’d made to discover her lover’s identity.

Mama?” Sophie squirmed at her side.

Five more minutes, dear.”

You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” the vicar quoted. “Jesus went on to say that we should love one another as he loves us.”

Catherine’s brows rose, and she wondered if Mr. Foster’s sermon had anything to do with Lord Somerton’s return or Mr. Blake’s mismanagement.

Sophie crowded into Catherine’s side and tugged at her sleeve. “Mama, I can’t wait.”

Catherine caught the note of panic in her daughter’s voice. She glanced down and saw Sophie’s big blue eyes round with alarm. She sighed and started collecting their personal belongings. In her severest voice, she whispered a warning in her daughter’s ear. “You will follow me from the church like a civilized young lady. Is that understood?”

Her six-year-old nodded and scooted to the edge of her seat. “Yes, Mama.”

They marched toward the open entrance door, and Catherine smiled apologetically to the other parishioners as they passed. When she neared the last pew, the Earl of Somerton’s penetrating gaze caught hers. He neither smiled nor nodded, simply followed her approach with gray eyes that glowed with a moonlit iridescence.

Her determined stride faltered, and an embarrassing staccato of anticipation vibrated through her veins, warming her skin. He was dressed in his London finery, and the earl’s tailored coat and dazzling white neckcloth stood out in stark contrast to the more loose-fitting and somber-colored garments of most of Showbury’s denizens. Why Lord Somerton chose to sit on a hard wooden pew in the back of the church when his family’s cushioned seat sat empty at the front, Catherine didn’t know.

She would have to mull over his lordship’s seating arrangements another time. Because at that precise moment, her daughter’s small hand pressed against Catherine’s lower back, propelling her forward in a frantic attempt to get outside. Catherine’s toe stubbed against the doorsill, causing her to stumble down the two front steps. In a drunken dance of cartwheeling arms and churning feet, Catherine somehow regained her footing at the last minute and skidded to an undignified halt.

For several disbelieving seconds, Catherine heard nothing except the thundering of her heart. She pulled in a calming breath and tapped her hand against her chest in a feeble attempt to soothe her nerves. Even though she had saved her backside, the same could not be said of her pride.

Sorry, Mama,” Sophie yelled over her shoulder. Her little feet tore across the churchyard until she reached the privy, the door slamming shut behind her.

If Catherine didn’t know her daughter any better, she would be tempted to thrash the little vixen for breaking her promise. Her temper did not last long, though. It never did when it came to her wild child. Although rash at times, Sophie had a heart that was sweet and pure, especially when compared to other children her age. Rather than pull the legs off a grasshopper, Sophie would rather place the creature in Castle Dragonthorpe, replete with turrets, drawbridge, and a straw bed.

Are you injured, madam?”

Catherine closed her eyes against Lord Somerton’s soft inquiry, her reluctant smile disappearing in an instant. It had been too much to hope that he would have turned a blind eye to her ignoble exit. Given his obvious desire to be quit of her presence the previous day, Catherine was rather surprised by his current solicitude. With reluctance, she turned to greet him, her gaze going first to the church’s entrance before settling on his handsome face.

Do not fret, Mrs. Ashcroft,” Lord Somerton said. “No one else observed your near mishap.”

The news should have cheered her, it really should. But all she could think about was that he had observed her. “That is good to know, my lord. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

You didn’t.” He glanced back at the church. “In fact, you saved me from Mr. Foster’s well-intended but rather pointed sermon.”

His comment confirmed what she had already suspected. “You think the vicar was trying to mend the rift of Mr. Blake’s neglect?”

The right side of the earl’s mouth curled into a self-deprecating smile. “Without a doubt.”

She considered asking him to expound, but his expression hardened before her eyes.

Your daughter’s hasty departure has proven fortuitous, however.”

A shot of chagrin heated Catherine’s cheeks. “My daughter is lively—”

There’s no need to explain,” he said. “I’m sure neither one of us has forgotten what it was like to sit through church at such a restless age.”

His understanding acted as a balm, and the pressure around Catherine’s chest relented. So few days passed by that didn’t challenge her belief in her ability to raise her daughter without the anchoring presence of a husband. Was she being too strict about Sophie’s studies? Not strict enough? Was she giving her enough guidance? Too much? The questions revolved around her mind in limitless patterns, often painful, and generally without answers.

Indeed, I have not, sir.” Catherine regarded the privy, wondering what was taking her daughter so long. Had she missed Sophie’s exit? She scanned the area for a mop of blond and red curls.

With most of Showbury attending Mr. Foster’s peacemaking sermon, the road and footpaths were deserted. Even the shops were closed up tight, the anomalies being Mr. Littleton, the general store owner, and Mr. Baggert, the butcher. Both men claimed to have their own connection to God, and didn’t need to sit through the vicar’s ramblings to know right from wrong. At times, Catherine agreed with them. And other times, she simply needed to hear Mr. Foster’s reassuring words.

Her search produced no little girl and the privy door remained closed.

Catherine’s stomach quivered with a familiar uneasiness. Ever since Cochran’s revelations about double spies and coded messages, she had experienced a strange compulsion to glance over her shoulder at odd moments. She also had difficulty letting Sophie out of her sight for any length of time—much to her daughter’s dismay.

Over the last year, she had often prayed for deliverance from her boring, well-ordered life. Had she known a perilous game of espionage would be the answer to her request, she would have kept her yearnings to herself. Her gaze bore into the privy’s weather-worn door. Sophie was safe, she told herself. The girl’s needs were simply taking longer than normal.

Mrs. Ashcroft?” Lord Somerton prodded.

Startled from her introspection, she shot a quick glance at the earl. “Yes, my lord?”

Is something wrong?” He looked toward the small outbuilding, where her daughter was taking her merry-sweet time.

She forced a nervous laugh. “I’m sure everything’s fine, sir. I fear my daughter might be delaying a tongue-lashing.”

I found this on one of the church steps.” He held out a carved image of a destrier, a knight’s warhorse. “Does it belong to your daughter?”

Yes, thank you.” She made to reach for it, but a movement on the opposite side of the street snagged her attention. Between the millinery and butcher shops, half-hidden by the building’s shadow, stood a man. A short man with a skeletal build eating something tucked inside wrapping used by Mr. Baggert.

Bile bubbled up inside her throat. There were few things that came out of the butcher’s shop that could be eaten right from the package. However, at that moment, Catherine could not think of a single one of them.

When the stranger noticed her scrutiny, he stopped chewing. His gaze locked with hers for a tension-filled moment. Then he began the slow mastication of whatever he had tucked inside the butcher’s wrapping.

The pressure in her chest returned.

Do you know him?” the earl asked, his fingertips touching the center of her back, a featherlight connection from which she drew much-needed strength.

Catherine moved toward the small outbuilding sheltering her daughter. The disgusting little man was far too close, and Catherine couldn’t stop the niggling suspicion that something was wrong. “I’ve never seen him before,” she said over her shoulder. “Please excuse me. I must check on my daughter.”

Mrs. Ashcroft, allow me to assist.”

She hastened across the churchyard, the earl’s voice growing more distant. She couldn’t respond, nor could she motion for him to follow. Something propelled her forward with an inexplicable drive to put her body between that of her daughter’s and the terrible little man.

Please be in the privy, please be in the privy. I swear if you’re not I’m going to lash your behind.

The fact she had never laid a disciplining hand on her daughter was immaterial. Simply making the threat gave her overactive mind something to center on besides the horrifying images that it kept dredging up.

Sophie,” she called from a carriage length away.

No answer.

Sophie—”

A large hand clamped around her elbow. She whirled about, her reticule arcing out to bash her assailant’s head.

Lord Somerton blocked her swing with his forearm. “Easy,” he said in a calm, not-the-least-bit-perturbed voice.

My lord, release me.” She pulled at her arm, her gaze returning to the small outbuilding. She felt mild embarrassment for her overreaction, but she didn’t have time to beg his forgiveness. “Something’s amiss with my daughter.”

Stay here.” He marched ahead of her and tested the door. Locked. “Miss Sophie.” His voice held authority, a note many would not dare ignore.

Catherine, never one to take orders where her daughter was concerned, joined him at the privy’s entrance, garnering her a sharp look. Why hadn’t Sophie answered his call? Why hadn’t she opened the door? She glanced at his profile, taking some solace in his presence, especially after noting the determined set to his masculine features.

Allow me, my lord.” She made to yank on the bolted door.

He caught her hand, and his thumb smoothed over the backs of her fingers. “A moment, Mrs. Ashcroft.”

He knocked again, louder this time. “Miss Sophie, this is your neighbor, Lord Somerton, and I’m here with your mother. If you do not come out in five seconds, I’ll be forced to kick down the door.”

Nothing but an unearthly silence met his warning.

Five. Four…”

Sophie dear, please come out,” Catherine pleaded. Each number tightened the fist clutching her heart. “I’m not hurt or upset, so you needn’t hide in there.”

Two. One.” The earl grabbed the latch. “I’m coming in, Miss Sophie.”

No!” shrieked a strangled voice from within.

Catherine shared a quick look with the earl. “Sophie, are you well?”

No,” her daughter cried. Muffled sobs penetrated the privy’s oak-planked door.

Ask if she’s injured,” the earl quietly demanded.

Sweetheart, are you injured?”

No.” Her voice sounded small, defeated.

The oppressive tension diminished to a trickle of apprehension. Catherine heard the earl release a breath.

He stepped back several feet. “Perhaps she needs her mother.”

Catherine nodded. “Unlatch the door, dear.”

She heard the telltale slide of wood against wood. A moment later, Catherine slid through the small opening, holding her breath against the stench of a well-used facility. It took a second or two for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they did, she found her daughter backed into a corner, her face wet with tears. “What’s wrong?” She worried she already knew why her daughter refused to leave.

Her normally brave little girl bit her bottom lip and cast her gaze to the floor.

Catherine moved closer, wanting to get out of this stinking building that was the size of a broom closet, but knew she must first coax her daughter into confiding in her. She bent at the knees until they stood face-to-face, and Catherine knew immediately why her daughter had refused to leave.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “Sweetheart, did you have an accident?”

A small nod. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

Catherine cradled her daughter’s small chin and forced her head around until their watery gazes met. “No need to apologize, pumpkin. You tried to tell me.”

How am I to leave here without all my friends knowing what I’ve done?”

Let me worry about that.” Catherine rose. “Stay here a moment.”

Sophie grasped Catherine’s sleeve. “Mama, don’t leave me.”

Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

No.”

Catherine kissed her daughter’s forehead. “I promise to return in two minutes.”

Her daughter swallowed, glancing between the door and the pit sitting in the middle of the building. “Two minutes?”

Two minutes.” Catherine stepped outside and drew in a cleansing breath. She was surprised to find Lord Somerton hadn’t moved.

How does she fare?” he asked in a low voice.

She had an accident, my lord.” She matched his quiet tone. “With such fine weather, we walked to church today, so I must request use of Mr. Foster’s carriage.”

There’s no need.” He motioned to someone behind her. “Mine’s waiting.”

She peered over her shoulder and found his driver steering a well-matched team of horses. “Oh, no, my lord, we couldn’t.”

Why not?”

Catherine lowered her voice. “She might soil your seats.”

No need to worry.” He threw open the carriage door. To the coachman, he said, “Miggs, hand me one of the carriage blankets, then lay out another on the bench.”

Yes, m’lord.”

Without another word, the earl accepted the proffered item and strode into the privy, eliciting a startled shriek from within. Everything happened so fast that Catherine barely had time to widen her eyes before the earl marched back outside with a blanket-covered bundle in his arms.

As he passed, Catherine caught a glimpse of her daughter’s watery blue eyes peering out, her small fingers wrapped around the warhorse she’d dropped on the church steps. Catherine’s throat closed, grateful for his thoughtful gesture. How long had it been since a man had carried her daughter in such a protective way? When an answer did not readily come to mind, Catherine fought back her tears.

He placed Sophie inside his carriage and then turned to offer his hand to Catherine. “Mrs. Ashcroft.”

She glanced from his hand to his strategically placed carriage to the church beyond. No one milling around outside could have seen past his conveyance and restless horses. Had the earl known before she had ever stepped foot inside the privy what she would find? Could he have arranged such a masterful escape in the short time she was inside? Better yet—would a murderous traitor go out of his way to protect the feelings of one small girl?

Madam?” he said, with an encouraging flick of his fingers. “Shall we go?”

She glanced at her daughter, who sat bundled in his carriage, enduring a bout of embarrassment but oddly content inside her thick blanket. What if Cochran was telling the truth about the earl’s involvement with the French? Placing herself in danger was one thing, but allowing Sophie to come in contact with a potential murderer—possibly her father’s killer—smacked of foolhardy behavior.

Speaking of foolhardy, she searched the area near the butcher’s shop for the skeletal man. She wanted very much to avoid remembering how she’d charged across the churchyard, with her reticule aloft, determined to save her daughter from the scary stranger. All in front of a man she was supposed to somehow impress long enough to obtain his list. So much for her motherly instincts.

He disappeared while we were trying to coax your daughter outside,” Lord Somerton said, his arm returning to his side.

Surprised, she shifted her attention back to the earl and immediately felt the effects of his probing gaze.

Are you sure you don’t know him from somewhere?”

Quite sure. One does not forget such a face.”

True.” He held out his hand again. “Ready?”

Mrs. Ashcroft,” a new voice called.

Turning, Catherine sent the vicar a welcoming smile and then glanced beyond his shoulder to see parishioners milling around the church. “Mr. Foster. I see services are over.” Behind her, she heard a muffled yelp and a scuffling noise and then a more masculine sigh.

Indeed, they are, ma’am.” The vicar stopped a few feet away and bowed. “Lord Somerton.”

Vicar.”

Catherine’s gaze slid to the earl, expecting to find an expression of annoyance, given his curt greeting. Instead, she found him looking as serious and sophisticated as ever. If not for the small cleft in his chin, one might liken him to one of the somber marble statues in the British Museum. But the cleft saved him from being too unapproachable.

My apologies for missing the end of your sermon,” she said.

I’m sure you had a good reason.” The vicar glanced at the earl’s carriage. “Are you off so soon?”

Nodding toward the now empty carriage window, Catherine said, “I’m afraid Sophie’s not feeling well.”

I am sorry to hear that,” Mr. Foster said. “Shall we postpone our ride?”

That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I’ll have Sophie back to rights in no time. Besides, I’m rather looking forward to our visit.”

Vicar,” Lord Somerton said. “It is past time we get the child home.”

Of course,” Mr. Foster said. “Forgive me for keeping you. I’ll see you later, then, Mrs. Ashcroft.”

Until later, Mr. Foster.”

This time, when Lord Somerton held out his hand, Catherine experienced no compunction to accept his escort. With the vicar seeing them off and expecting her to accompany him later, she doubted the earl would indulge in any villainous behavior. Once again, she had allowed her imagination to run amok. Unless Lord Somerton knew about the content of her meeting with Cochran, he would have no reason to harm her or her daughter.

Thank you, my lord.” She laid her fingers in his palm as she ascended the carriage steps. Heat tingled its way up her arm and across her shoulder, spreading until her ears felt like they were on fire. Her hand trembled, and she plopped onto the cushioned bench next to a lump of squirming blanket.

She released his hand, and he shut the door behind her.

Catherine sat forward. “You’re not joining us, my lord?”

He glanced at Sophie. “No. I think it best if I ride up top with Miggs.”

Catherine reached to open the door. “Please ride inside with us, where you’ll be more comfortable. I don’t like that we’re dislocating you from your own carriage.”

Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t mind. I rather like riding with old Miggs and his flamboyant stories.” He stepped away. “Pull the curtain, Mrs. Ashcroft.”

Then he was gone. Catherine stared out the window for several seconds, pondering his considerate actions with those Cochran had described of the Nexus’s leader. How could a man show so much care for one small girl and then turn around and conspire against his country? An act that could kill hundreds?

The carriage rocked to the side with the earl’s weight, the movement snapping her out of her musings. She closed the curtain and sat back as they lurched into motion. A few seconds later, her intrepid daughter emerged from her cocoon of wool.

Blowing a gold-red curl out of her eye, Sophie asked, “Do you think anyone saw me, Mama?”

Catherine wrapped her arm around the girl’s narrow shoulders. “No, pumpkin. Lord Somerton provided a clever disguise.”

Not even Mr. Foster?”

Not even Mr. Foster,” Catherine confirmed. “Lord Somerton made sure of it.”

The earl smelled nice.”

Any other day, Catherine would have corrected Sophie’s form of address. “Did he?”

Sophie nodded. “Like a tree.”

Catherine smiled. “Lord Somerton smelled like a tree? Was it a beech?”

More like an oak,” her daughter said. “Sprinkled with spice.”

She pulled her daughter’s head toward her and kissed her mop of curls. “Sounds lovely, dear.” She adored the innocence of Sophie’s imagination. Her daughter was amazing, and somehow she had been born from Catherine’s less-than-perfect womb.

Sophie galloped her destrier across Catherine’s lap. “Do you think the earl will come on Saturday?”

Catherine’s pulse quickened. “Why do you ask, sweetheart?”

Her daughter shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Are you sure you don’t?” She smoothed her hand over her daughter’s curls. “You can tell me.”

Sophie picked at the black ribbon on her dress. “I know we’re supposed to keep my birthday to just family and close friends, because we’re mourning Papa and Grandpapa. But I thought the earl could help me add a piece to Castle Dragonthorpe.”

Tears stung the backs of Catherine’s eyes and her vision blurred. More and more of late, her daughter craved the attention of a masculine figure. Edward, the vicar, the Walkers’ father—it didn’t matter, as long as the man showed an interest in her. And now, she wanted to share their special castle-building custom with the Earl of Somerton.

Mama, please don’t cry,” Sophie said, her voice cracking. “You can still help. No one decorates the chambers better than you.”

Thank you, pumpkin.” Catherine hugged her daughter to her side. “I’m sorry your father can’t be here to celebrate with you.”

Sophie shrugged her shoulders again and then cast Catherine an agonized, sidelong look. “Mama, please don’t be cross.”

What’s this?” Catherine lifted her daughter’s chin. “Sophie, you can ask whomever you wish to help build your castle. I would never be upset with you for such a thing.”

Her daughter swiped her skinny arm underneath her nose, leaving a liquid trail behind. “I thought the earl could help me set up the torture devices Edward carved for me. I know how you dislike blood and violence.” Watery rivulets streaked down her smooth cheeks. “But that’s not what I meant.”

Tell me, Sophie,” Catherine said with growing concern. “I promise not to be upset.”

Papa’s face. I don’t see it anymore.”

Like the ends of a knot being pulled swiftly in opposite directions, Catherine’s throat closed again, swiftly and without warning. The air from her lungs was cut off from the rest of her body. Her head swam, her heart broke. “Oh, sweet pumpkin. You do not have to see your papa’s face to love him with your heart.” Catherine laid her hand over her daughter’s thundering chest. “He lives here. Always will.”

Sophie snuggled against Catherine’s breast, clutching her wooden horse and sniffing back her sadness. They both said nothing for a long while, simply sat immersed in their own thoughts. Then, in a low voice, her daughter asked, “Will you invite the earl, Mama?”

Catherine closed her eyes. “Yes, sweetheart.”

Crisis averted, Sophie soon began chattering on about teaching her pony a new command when they returned home. Catherine listened with half an ear, for her mind had settled back onto the earl. Somehow she would find a way to learn more about his lordship. Perhaps she could invent an excuse to visit him at Bellamere. The contrivance made her cringe. He would likely see through her desperation and think she had designs on his person. If she wasn’t in mourning, she might be able to pull off such a scheme—at least for a while.

Her eyes widened. Hadn’t the earl mentioned something about her departure being fortuitous before her worry for Sophie overrode their conversation? What had he meant by that statement? She searched her mind for possible reasons. Maybe he had a question about the repairs or about a particular craftsman. Yes, that would make sense.

Now she had to figure out a way to regain their former discussion without seeming too eager. Although she hated the pretense, anticipation vibrated along every nerve and muscle in her body. If she could somehow burrow her way into his good graces, she could play a small part in fixing Mr. Blake’s disastrous stewardship while tracking down Cochran’s information, plus bring an end to the mystery of her husband’s death.

And for a short period of time, she wouldn’t be alone.

Can we open the curtain now, Mama?”

Catherine drew back the heavy material, only to find towering black clouds in the distance.

Looks like rain, Mama.”

Indeed it does, pumpkin.” Catherine tilted her head back to rest against the carriage seat. She stared at the dark panel above her and tried to ignore the dread seeping into her bones.

***

Sebastian studied the small collection of books in the widow’s library, his impatience growing with each passing minute. He had escaped the vicar’s pointed sermon about forgiving one’s neighbor only to be met with Mrs. Ashcroft’s domestic issue.

He didn’t know what was worse—the vicar publicly challenging the residents of Showbury not to cast judgment on their landlord for hiring Blake, or getting himself involved in the welfare of yet another child.

A girl, no less.

He gritted his teeth against the pain of remembrance, of Cora’s imprisonment. Of the helplessness that followed. But he did not dwell there for long. Recriminations about the past were useless in the present. The decisions he made today, this minute, were all that mattered. If previous mistakes helped guide him down a better path now, all the better.

Shrugging off images of dungeons and pain-filled eyes, Sebastian stared at the door. Where the hell was she? The longer he idled in the widow’s library, the more restless he became.

She had implored him to stay before shuffling her blanket-draped daughter upstairs and issuing a full gamut of orders to her staff. He had thought she was going upstairs to retrieve the letters, but too much time had elapsed for so simple a task.

Why hadn’t he disappeared when he’d had the chance? Their discussion regarding Ashcroft’s letters would be better held at Bellamere, away from the distracting presence of a child. He needed to concentrate and he couldn’t afford to care. Not again. Dammit. Why had he allowed the widow’s beseeching brown eyes to win out against his better judgment?

Disgusted with his weakness, he released a harsh breath. Through all the bustle, Sebastian had admired Catherine’s ability to direct her household with a firm, yet gentle hand. Her staff anticipated her needs, and when they hadn’t, she’d remind them with soft commands followed by genuine gratitude. All signs of a good mistress.

He focused on her bookshelves again. They, too, carried her stamp of authority. Every shelf contained its own category, and every category was alphabetized. Only in the finest libraries had he ever seen such an exacting system.

With her delicate beauty as a distraction, one could easily underestimate the widow’s fortitude. His gaze surveyed the room at large. Took in the aged, yet comfortable leather chairs, the purple and yellow flowers on the side table, the colorful draperies protecting the room from draughts. She’d made a home here, despite her husband’s preoccupation in London. If Sebastian wasn’t so anxious to leave, this would be a room where he could spend many comfortable hours reading in front of the fireplace.

A disturbance in the air drew his attention to the doorway. With pink cheeks, tamed hair, and a radiant smile, the widow’s daughter entered the room on limbs more buoyant than a mere quarter hour ago.

The muscles in his neck tautened.

Thank you for waiting, my lord,” Mrs. Ashcroft said. “Sophie has something she’d like to say.”

Her daughter dipped into a commendable curtsy. “Thank you for bringing me home, my lord.”

She reminded him so thoroughly of Cora, who had also suffered a similar loss as a child. Sebastian inclined his head, ignoring the clenching pain in his throat. “You’re most welcome.”

Sophie,” Mrs. Ashcroft said, “run down to the stables now and ask Carson to saddle Guinevere and Gypsy. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The girl didn’t budge. “Is the earl joining us?” Sophie asked.

Lord Somerton,” her mother corrected. “No, dear. His lordship has attended us long enough.”

Relief spread through his limbs at the possibility of escape, but the imp’s crestfallen expression wreaked havoc on his conscience.

Glancing at his timepiece, he said, “I must be on my way, I’m afraid.”

The widow nudged her daughter toward the door, but Sophie wheeled around after only a few feet. “Can we ask him now, Mama?”

No. Now is not the time.”

Sebastian noticed the widow kept her gaze averted.

Unperturbed, the girl tried a different tactic. “Do you have horses, sir?”

I have a great many horses.”

A white one?” she asked.

Yes.”

A black one?”

Of course,” he said, amused despite his best efforts.

A brown one?”

Sophie,” her mother scolded, eyeing him.

Well, Mama,” the girl said. “If the earl has a black and white horse, he must have a brown one.”

Mrs. Ashcroft turned her daughter toward the door. “No, Lord Somerton mustn’t.”

May I come see your horses, sir?” the girl asked over her shoulder while being ushered out of the room.

Sebastian said nothing. The last thing he needed was a curious girl running around his estate, no matter how enchanting.

Sophie, I told you,” the widow said in exasperation. “Lord Somerton’s a busy man. He can’t set his duties aside to play nursemaid to you. Now run along.”

But Mama—”

The widow’s glare cut her daughter’s complaint short.

Sophie dipped into a hurried curtsy. “Good day to you, Earl.”

Lord Somerton,” her mother corrected again.

The vixen smiled, and Sebastian knew she cared not a whit about such formalities.

Good day, Lord Somerton.”

He inclined his head. “Enjoy your ride with the vicar.”

Once the sound of her daughter’s running feet faded, the widow turned to him. “I’m sorry, my lord. Sophie’s horse-obsessed and begs an introduction wherever we go.”

Quite understandable.”

I believe you wanted to see these.” She held out a packet of letters, tied together with a black ribbon. The ribbon trembled.

Thank you.” He studied her face as he accepted the bundle, but her even features gave nothing away. “I know how hard it must be to share your private correspondence.”

Yes, but worth it if they help you find my husband’s murderer.” She swallowed. “Did you learn anything from the others I gave you?” She turned the full force of those beautiful eyes on him.

Unfortunately, no.” He held up the new stash. “We need to decipher these in order to fully understand Ashcroft’s message.”

I see.”

Tell me, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He stepped closer, his gaze sliding over the delicate contours of her face. “What will you do if it’s decided that your husband’s death was an unfortunate case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Her eyes widened a fraction, but her answer came swift and determined. “I’ll take the letters to someone else.”

Sebastian’s body went hard. Desire like nothing he had ever felt before rushed through his veins. Not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to have such a fierce champion. “Are you this loyal to everyone you care about?”

What can you mean, sir?” she asked. “Would you not do the same for a wife?”

I have never been married, madam. Therefore, I cannot answer your question.” Closer now, he drew in a long, slow breath until her scent drenched his senses. Tantalizing and fresh. Understated, yet feminine. His chest expanded around another deep inhalation. “But I find I like the idea of a wife defending my cause. No matter the obstacles placed in her path.”

You make me sound heroic.” She folded her hands in front of her. “I assure you, I am not. Merely practical.”

He studied the pulse point on her slender throat, noted its frantic rhythm. Blood streamed into his extremities. “I don’t believe you. My tenants provided several testimonials yesterday that would make you eligible for sainthood.”

Don’t be ridiculous,” she said in a breathless voice. “Unlike your tenants, I had nothing to lose by holding Mr. Blake accountable for his actions.”

Yes, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He raised his hand and brushed the backs of his fingers along the curve of her neck. “Unlike you, not everyone would have bothered to right the injustice.”

M-my, lord, what are you doing?”

He settled a hand on her waist, bringing their bodies closer together. His gaze transfixed on her lush full lips. Lips that would mold to his in an exquisite embrace. His insides curled into a tight knot of anticipation. He shouldn’t want her, his agent’s widow, but he did, with staggering force. Ashcroft’s final request faded behind his fevered desire.

It was then he knew she was in danger. And perhaps so was he.

I’m going to kiss you now.”

My lord—”

Soft flesh, luscious warmth, and an inexplicable rightness assailed his senses the moment he covered her mouth with his. He deepened the kiss and pulled her unresisting body into the cradle of his arms. Her delicate frame was a flawless fit, made for him alone.

The small hands resting on his chest inched their way around his torso and squeezed with a force that verged on desperation. He cradled her sweet face with unsteady hands. His breaths came more rapidly and his body sought a closer contact. He was losing control, and the realization cut through the fog of desire clouding his mind. Ending the kiss, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and fought to temper his erratic heartbeat.

Think, Somerton! Catherine was under his protection and in mourning. Two inviolable conditions. Until a year and a day, her marriage vows still breathed life, a condition he knew she would honor even though her marriage died years ago. That she had accepted his kiss was unexpected and more than a little stirring.

I believe it best if you release me now, my lord.”

Removing his arms and backing away proved surprisingly difficult. She took a moment to smooth out the creases in her dress and tuck a few stray hairs back in place. Sebastian watched it all with a resignation that lay heavily on his chest. He did not want to lose this. Not yet. His honor be damned.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone against his better judgment, or the last time a woman had compelled him to lose control. Both situations would normally cause him to pause, to step away and not look back. Maintaining control kept those around him safe.

But he couldn’t turn away. His attraction to the widow was tangible and invigorating. Could he do it? Could he pretend to live a normal life in Showbury? For a few short days?

He had to try. For a period of time, he wanted to submerse himself in raw, unadulterated pleasure. Then, and only then, would he go back to his cold, passionless existence. If he did not seize this rare opportunity, he would regret it always. And he was damned tired of regrets. He would deal with the guilt later.

Should I apologize?” he asked.

She sent him a sad smile. “No more so than I, my lord.”

Good,” he said. “Because I’m not sure I could have managed any real sincerity.”

You do not mince words, do you?”

On the contrary,” he said. “I have done so on many occasions, but with you I do not think it necessary. Or was I wrong?”

No.”

Her quiet confirmation seared his blood. “I have need of your services, after all.”

E-excuse me?”

Thanks to Mr. Blake, my tenants have become rather suspicious of my commitment.”

In time, they will see the truth of the matter.”

I agree,” he said. “With your help.”

Rest assured,” she said, “I will do what I can to spread the word of your steward’s perfidy. A casual word in Mrs. Walker’s ear should set things into motion.”

If you are willing, I should like more from you than a whispered word to Showbury’s most dedicated gossip.”

Pink crept into her cheeks, and her lips thinned. “I’m not sure what else I can offer, my lord. You were not interested in my knowledge of the local craftsmen.”

He slid the letters into an inner pocket of his coat. Using the back of his forefinger, he caressed the line of her jaw. “That was not a lack of interest you witnessed.”

The color in her cheeks deepened, and her uneven breaths peppered his wrist. “What was it, then?”

Pride.” A sin in which he had an overabundance.

Pride?”

He removed his hand. “Yes.” The admission was not an easy one, nor was his motive for revealing his secret. “I did not think I needed your help. However, my tenants have shown me the error in my logic.”

What would you have me do?”

Everyone I spoke to yesterday was rather content to continue working with you.”

She frowned. “You must be mistaken.”

I am not.” He canted his head to the side. “I’m interested in learning why you think so, though.”

It’s of no importance.” She waved his comment aside. “You would have me act as your steward?”

Only until I hire a replacement,” he said. “If you are willing, I could use your help in creating a schedule of repairs.”

Her eyes brightened at the suggestion, and Sebastian was struck again by her conventional beauty. Beauty that became less common every time he spoke to her.

Of course,” she said. “But what of Grayson?”

He has offered his assistance, should you need it.”

You do not wish him to take on the responsibility?”

No,” he said. “I already gave Grayson the short list of repairs you provided. He’s content to assist rather than direct.”

She considered him for a moment. “You appear quite capable of organizing the tenants’ complaints yourself.”

Capable, yes. Willing, no.” His callous answer caused her eyes to narrow. “I have other issues requiring my attention while in Showbury.”

Her gaze dulled, and Sebastian wondered at its source.

When might you begin preparing a schedule?” he asked.

I’ll start on it tonight.”

You’re certain?”

Yes, my lord,” she said. “The less time I spend on the schedule, the faster the repairs can commence.”

Again, her thoughtfulness had a warming effect on his starving emotions. Gratitude manifested into a ball of heat; heat spiraled into desire. Of its own accord, his voice dropped. “Are you an early riser, Mrs. Ashcroft?”

Her feminine instincts could not miss the latent need underlining his words. Instead of retreating, she met his challenge. Her gaze dipped to his lips. “Generally, my lord.”

An image of her lithe body, aching for release and tangled in his sheets, flashed before his eyes, sharp and clear. His cock hardened, pulsed with near painful intensity.

A whoop of girlish laughter outside penetrated the intimate confines of the library. Familiar reality iced his heated blood. His spine straightened. “I’ll send my carriage around to collect you at nine, then. You can show me what you have over breakfast.”

Her perceptive gaze flicked to the window, to where her daughter chased something too small to be seen from this distance. Sebastian watched the widow’s cautious enthusiasm for her new project leech away. The upturned crinkles around her eyes fell into joyless slants and her lips thinned into a line of resignation.

No need to bother your staff, sir. As I mentioned before, my horse knows the way, as do my feet.”

Very well.” He bowed a farewell. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Ashcroft? I really must be going.”

Yes, of course.”

She guided him through the house, out the front door, and then stopped to await his approaching carriage. A heavy silence hovered between them as they watched his restless team of horses advance. The black geldings tossed back their sleek heads and dug their massive hooves into the ground until his driver Miggs drew them to a halt a short distance away.

Sebastian had an unnerving need to throw back his own head to release the tension thrumming through his body.

Thank you again for seeing to my daughter’s welfare,” she said. “Sophie will be retelling the tale of her rescue to the servants for days. I would not have been as successful in keeping her secret.” She glanced up at him, revealing a feminine vulnerability few men could ignore.

As it happened, he was one of the few.

He hadn’t earned a reputation as a cold bastard for no reason. The brutal slaying of his mentor over a decade ago served as a constant reminder of how one’s enemies will use every tool at their disposal to get what they want. Even murdering a man’s wife. And torturing a spymaster’s ward.

Excuse me, my lord?” A footman appeared at his side, holding out Sebastian’s hat and gloves. He welcomed the distraction and accepted the servant’s offering.

He needed to establish a few boundaries for their new partnership, though. The last thing he wanted was her daughter skipping around Bellamere Park, getting into God knew what and reminding him of everything he had set aside for the welfare of his country.

Mrs. Ashcroft, it’s been a long time since I had a child in the house. I find that I work best in a less spirited atmosphere.”

Her chin lifted a notch. “I hadn’t considered bringing my daughter along, my lord, but I thank you for the warning.”

Her chiding retort bit into his conscience. Before he did something ridiculous like apologize or kiss her again, he tipped his hat in her direction. “Good day, madam.”

She produced an abbreviated curtsy. “My lord.”

Sebastian settled against the carriage bench, calling upon his notorious control not to acknowledge the intriguing widow as he rumbled by. No matter what occurred between Catherine and him, he could not allow sentiment to enter the picture.

Because emotion was a weakness, and weakness killed loved ones.