halt, I am for bed. I find I don’t have the stamina for this kind of verbal swordplay. It’s been a long day.”
When she made to walk around him, he blocked her path. “Please stay.”
“Will you answer my questions?”
“Is it not enough to know the true nature of Ashcroft’s death and that we’re doing everything we can to locate his killer?”
She rubbed her arms. “Believe me, Sebastian, I wish it was enough. I will be quite happy to have this business behind me.”
He laid his palm against her cheek and then kissed her with a sweet reverence that made her eyes prickle. “This won’t allay your current disappointment,” he whispered against her lips, “but I want you to know, all the same.”
During their kiss, she had placed her hand over his chest and could now feel its rhythmic beat against her palm. Too fast, much too fast. “I’m listening.”
“If I could tell you more, I would. I swear it.”
God help her, she believed him. Believed the struggle he couldn’t quite mask behind his carefully controlled appearance. She pressed her lips to his palm but said nothing. Something he said earlier simply didn’t make sense. “You work for the Foreign Office in some capacity?”
The muscles beneath both her hands flexed. “Yes.”
“Then you know whether my husband worked there?”
“I do.”
She arched a brow, waiting.
His chest expanded on a deep breath. “He did.”
Closing her eyes, she said, “How could I not know my husband was a spy?”
He grasped her upper arms and set her away. “Who said he was? John Chambers?”
She shrugged. “It seemed a logical occupation given all that’s happened.” Cochran’s name was on the tip of her tongue, but instinct cautioned her to keep his identity secret for a little while longer.
“Tell me, Sebastian,” she said. “Once you find Jeffrey’s killer, will you then share the full details?”
He stepped away and picked up his wine. “I cannot.”
Her heart plummeted, but she was unsurprised by his answer. She’d held on to the tiniest bit of hope that he would eventually provide her with a sense of resolution. Unfortunately, she was still no closer to understanding his involvement with Jeffrey and this Nexus. For all she knew, everything Cochran had told her was the truth. The earl might have developed an ephemeral tendre for her and might wish to convey the circumstances around her husband’s death, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the one responsible. Hopefully, Cochran would come through for her in a way Lord Somerton was determined not to.
“I see.” Because of his bone-chilling honesty, she managed to send him a polite smile. “In that case, I guess there’s nothing left to say but good night.”
His lips thinned. “I will see you in the morning.”
She strode across the room and entered the connecting chamber, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the solid oak panel and tipped her head back, willing the war inside her body to abate.
Part of her wanted to ignore all the warning signs surrounding Sebastian—the danger, the prevarication, the single-mindedness. And another part of her wanted to pack Sophie up and head to the coast for a much-needed holiday. His actions with her daughter, his tenants, and Meghan McCarthy all pointed to a caring and considerate man. Grayson admired him and Mrs. Fox adored him. Lord Danforth had an easy relationship with him, even if a respectful one.
All of this still couldn’t account for the secrets he’d kept or the isolation he’d lived under. He guarded his emotions with a small infantry. Any tiny chink to his defenses was swiftly replaced by another shield.
She pushed away from the door. A sudden sense of loss blackened her already somber mood. His reticence to confide in her had now forced her to act in a way not to her liking. She must now find her own answers. And in doing so, she must violate his trust and her moral principles.
Catherine lowered herself into one of the dainty chairs and waited.
Fourteen
With one hand anchored on his hip and the other clutched around a near-empty glass, Sebastian paused in the midst of the sunken garden. Where was that blasted bench?
He squinted into the darkness, twisting this way, then that way. No bench. He took another lurching step, his powerful frame listing decidedly to the left. If only this bloody garden would stop moving.
The widow was to blame for his current predicament. Had she not harangued him with question after question, he was certain they would be more agreeably engaged. In