the far end of the corridor caught her attention. She angled her head, listening. Then came the distinctive sound of a man’s heavy tread. She quickly shut the drawers and straightened his desk. The footsteps grew louder, closer.
She leaned forward to grab a quill and the ink blotter shifted, sliding to the right a few inches and nearly knocking off a stack of ledgers. She scooted the books back in place and made to do the same with the blotter when she noticed a sheet of paper beneath. Could this be the list? The footsteps stopped outside the door. Out of time.
Her heart pushed into her throat, and she hurried to straighten the blotter and dip the pen into the inkwell. She scribbled a word into one of the columns, praying the frantic beating of her heart was noticeable only to her ears.
The study door swung open, and Lord Somerton filled the frame. Once again, his big body held her spellbound and made her feel achingly feminine. She followed the path of his penetrating gaze—over her body, the desk, and the surrounding area. A flush burned its way up her neck and fanned out over her cheeks.
Setting the pen aside, she rose. “I hope you don’t mind, my lord. You did say to make myself comfortable, and I had an overwhelming urge to sit behind this massive desk.”
“My grandfather had it commissioned years ago. It’s a great heap of wood that takes up far too much space.”
She stepped away to give the desk a better look. “The craftsmanship is quite stunning.”
“So it is.”
When Catherine glanced back at him, she found his attention was no longer on his grandfather’s desk, but on her. The hunger in his gaze was both compelling and oddly bleak. She parted her lips to release a low, shuddering breath, then looked away.
He moved farther into the room, motioning for her to join him. He must have sensed her struggle, for his face was now devoid of expression; no trace of his sensual yearning remained.
“Shall we discuss your schedule while working our way through a cold plate of food?”
“By all means.” She scooped up the schedule. “I’m ready.”
While they strode toward the breakfast room, Catherine considered the hidden sheet of paper. Could it contain the information Mr. Cochran sought? A list of traitors that would somehow implicate Lord Somerton as their leader?
She still didn’t know how the list would be useful for her cause. Would he somehow be able to identify Jeffrey’s killer? So many questions with too few answers. All this subterfuge made her head hurt.
“Another headache?”
Catherine stopped the circular motion of her fingers against her temple and gripped the schedule with both hands. “No, my lord. I simply have much on my mind.”
He held out a chair for her. “Would you care to share?”
“N-no, thank you,” she said, startled by his question. “You have enough to worry about without adding my concerns.”
At the sideboard, he lifted silver domes and began filling their plates. The sight struck Catherine as odd. Never had she expected to be served breakfast by an earl.
“It would relieve my mind to think on something else for a while, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He placed a mounding plateful of food in front of her. “What taxes you so?”
Telling him the truth was out of the question, so she settled on a topic close to her heart. One in which he could find little fault. She spooned a dollop of jam onto her toast. “Jeffrey’s letters, my lord. I confess I am more than anxious to hear of your assessment.”
Silence. Under the cover of her lashes, Catherine chanced a peek at the earl. He appeared inordinately focused on cutting up his food—all of his food—into bite-size pieces.
Finally, he said, “You were right.”
She raised an eyebrow. “About what?”
“As you said in London, there was something peculiar about his messages.” He stabbed several pieces of mutilated sausage with his fork. “Now that I have the rest of Ashcroft’s correspondence, I’m hoping some of the questions that arose in the first batch will be answered in the second.”
“What if they’re not?”
He didn’t bother looking up. “It’s best not to speculate. Allow me to analyze the lot and we shall go from there.”
He was keeping something from her. Anger coiled in her heart like an asp getting ready to strike. She knew the emotion was ridiculous, especially after all that Cochran had conveyed about him. But she had revealed details about her marriage to this man that she had