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