A disturbance from the entry hall caught their attention and they grappled for each other’s hands in a show of feminine support. They rushed to the door, but when Catherine made to open it, Cora placed her palm against the oak panel and directed her unsettling gaze on her. “Give him a chance to love you.”
The pressure around her chest tightened, and Catherine’s pulse roared in her ears. Overcoming the reason that brought them together was only one of their many hurdles, the biggest being Sebastian’s role with the Nexus. That role would take him away from her for long periods of time, during which she would constantly worry for his return. Constantly be waiting.
Catherine turned the latch, prompting Cora to remove her hand. She stepped through the portal and pivoted toward the commotion. There, at the far end of the corridor, where it emptied into the entry hall, stood Sebastian, looking disheveled and dangerous. The sight of him sent a tide of relief through her body, and she released a whoosh of air.
Give him a chance to love you.
As if he sensed her presence, his gaze caught hers, and held. Something primitive marred his handsome features, and he stepped forward as if pulled by the strength of her gaze. Then Cora squeezed past Catherine and headed straight for her betrothed. The small disruption was enough to sever her visual bond with Sebastian.
He retreated beneath the guise of cold civility he wore so splendidly, and Catherine nudged the loose brick in her wall back into place.
***
Sebastian’s heart nearly exploded with relief to find Catherine hale and looking more beautiful than anyone had a right to after such a harrowing experience. Confronted with losing her daughter, she had exhibited great courage—and foolishness—in running Cochran to ground. Thank God, the children had been clear of the area when the shooting began. As for Catherine, he could only be grateful that she had listened to him when it counted most. If something had happened to her and Sophie…
An image of his mentor’s wife’s dead body flooded his vision. The horror the man must have faced haunted Sebastian every time he gazed upon Catherine. Knowing one’s wife was about to be murdered and being helpless to do anything was a nightmare Sebastian had sworn he would never experience.
But he’d come close tonight. Not with a wife, but with a little girl who had somehow attached herself to his heart. As had her mother.
Ice crackled, fusing together, inch by inch, until it slowly encased him inside a protective shell. Only he knew, far too well, that one kiss from Catherine would shatter the fragile barrier, leaving him exposed to a crushing torment.
She must have sensed his withdrawal, for her expression molded itself into one of indifference. Clasping her hands at her waist, she retreated from view.
“Let us move to the study,” Cora said, clinging to Helsford.
Sebastian followed behind Danforth, Reeves, and the inseparable pair, mentally preparing himself for the next few hours. They had much to discuss, and unfortunately, he would have to pretend that he did not wish to whisk Catherine away to a private chamber.
Not thinking, Sebastian strode to the side table holding an assortment of crystal decanters. He poured brandy for the men and sherry for the women. When he made to tip back his first glass, he caught Catherine’s concerned look out of the corner of his eye before she hastily averted her gaze.
Something unpleasant swelled in his gut. The sensation grew worse when his nose caught its first whiff of the amber liquid’s rustic fruity blend, followed swiftly by the sharp sting of alcohol. Lowering his hand, he returned the squat glass to the side table and took up a familiar position near the fireplace.
“Superintendent Reeves,” Cora said, “what brings you to Showbury? At such a propitious moment?”
If the Foreign Office official was bothered by Cora’s suspicious tone, he did not show it. “Lord Somerton’s letter.”
Sebastian’s agents turned as one to him. “At no time did our evidence point to Reeves, even though he was the logical choice,” he said. “But I knew Cochran was getting his information from within the Foreign Office. So, I took a leap of faith.”
“After a few inquiries and several threats,” Reeves said, “I found Cochran’s source. My clerk, Bradford. A man I trusted.”
“Does Cochran even work at the Foreign Office, sir?” Catherine asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Reeves said. “He’s a minor clerk to the under-secretary of the Foreign Office. In Bradford’s defense, he did not realize