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.
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