door open, and Catherine saw the attractive visage of a gentleman in his late twenties. He flashed her an appreciative smile.
“Good morning, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He pushed his way past a scowling Lord Somerton and bowed before her, lifting her hand to his mouth. Then he paused to raise an inquiring brow toward the earl.
Lord Somerton sighed. “Viscount Danforth, may I present Mrs. Ashcroft.”
The gentleman smiled and kissed the back of her fingers. Catherine needed no introduction, though. The few times Lord Danforth had graced Bellamere’s corridors he’d set off a feminine hum of excitement all over Showbury. Although she had only seen him from afar, he was as startlingly handsome as she remembered. With his charm and striking features, he was assured a spot in every young girl’s heart. Even Catherine found herself grinning at his antics. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Danforth.”
He released her hand and glanced around. “What brings you to Somerton’s lair this morning?”
“None of your business.” Lord Somerton indicated the door. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”
Danforth glanced between her and the earl, a devilish look in his eye. “But the company is so much more pleasant here.”
“A situation easily remedied.”
Catherine glanced up at the earl, unsure if the threatening note in his words were made in jest or in warning. His crystalline eyes were fixed on the viscount; they glowed with an unearthly foreboding. She transferred her attention to Lord Danforth and found his face wiped clean of all humor and the slightest bit of wariness dampening his features.
A moment later, Danforth blew out a beleaguered breath. “The package?”
The tension in Lord Somerton’s shoulders eased but did not go away. Their silent battle of wills confused Catherine. The earl’s reaction to the viscount’s playfulness seemed cold, even for him.
To Catherine, the earl said, “I will return in a few minutes. With any luck, your breakfast will still be warm.”
Danforth bowed. “My apologies, dear lady. I did not mean to keep you from your morning meal. I look forward to the time when our paths cross again.”
Catherine curtsied. “As do I.”
“Come, Danforth.” Lord Somerton did not wait to see if the viscount would do as commanded. He simply turned and left the room.
Danforth winked at her and followed the earl at a more languid pace. And then, through the closed door, she heard the first notes of a merry whistle.
Catherine’s smile faded, wondering about the package Lord Somerton was so keen on sending to London. And why had Lord Danforth referred to the earl as “chief”? Her mind cast about for something familiar and solid. Something safe. The schedule of repairs she had developed lay in the center of his desk. Desk.
The reddish-brown grains gleamed invitingly, tauntingly. They seemed to eddy down toward the nearest drawer handle, tempting her. Fear seared her heart. Dare she peek into the desk drawers of England’s spymaster?
She glanced at the closed study door. Would he really keep sensitive information in such an accessible location? Surely, he would not be so trusting, even in the country. Doubtful, but passing up a rare opportunity like this would be foolhardy. Cochran would return soon, and he would expect something tangible to pass on to his superior.
She rushed to open the first drawer. A stack of pristine paper, with his family’s seal emblazoned at the top, sticks of red sealing wax, and several uncut quill nibs met her hurried inspection. Pulling the drawer out farther, she groped blindly behind the mound of paper for anything unusual and came up with nothing but dusty fingers.
Even as she tried the second drawer, her conscience screamed with guilt. She couldn’t stop wondering at the veracity of Cochran’s assertions about the earl. Leading a secret group of agents did not make him a murderer, or even a double spy. There could be any number of reasons why the viscount called Lord Somerton by that unusual epithet, although none came to mind.
But more importantly, the more she spoke to Cochran, the more her suspicions were aroused. Something about the tenor of their last discussion made her feel unclean and off-centered. Cochran’s demeanor seemed more predatory during their second meeting, far less congenial than their first. But maybe her insistence they postpone their conversation simply put him in a foul mood.
Despite her concerns, Catherine pressed on. If she could find one thing that would either prove the earl’s innocence or point to those responsible for Jeffrey’s death, all this subterfuge would be worth the risk.