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