Checkmate, My Lord - By Tracey Devlyn Page 0,69

grew. And now, he was in their private sanctuary, observing them with an unholy gleam in his eyes. But who was he and why was he following her?

With a surreptitious sweep of the area, Catherine considered their options. He had picked his location well. In order to return to the house, she would have to pass his hiding spot. She could take the southern footpath, but that would lead them through a dense woodland before turning back east. The isolated nature of the route troubled her more than walking by the man.

She could head west, to Sebastian’s estate, even though that way lay an uncertain welcome. But, like the southern route, the west footpath would still take them past the stranger.

“Do you see him, Mama?”

“Yes, pumpkin.” She set her daughter away. “Put on your stockings and shoes, please.”

“Must we go? I want to hear more about my surprise.”

“Do as I say, and we will discuss it all you want. Up at the house.”

Catching the note of authority in Catherine’s voice, her daughter ended her protest and did as told. Catherine picked up her own discarded footwear. When they were ready to go, Catherine knelt down in front of Sophie. “Listen closely, sweetheart, but do not be alarmed.” She waited for her daughter’s nod. “We’re going to walk past that man, but I do not want you to speak with him or acknowledge him in anyway. Is that understood?”

“Uh-huh,” Sophie said, looking toward the man’s location.

“That includes staring.”

Sophie’s eyes flashed to Catherine’s. In a stage whisper, she said, “Is he a bad man? Papa warned me about them.”

“I don’t know.” Why were the men in her life never around when she needed them? “And I don’t intend to find out today.” She glanced around the area to make sure they had retrieved all of their belongings. “Ready?”

Her daughter tunneled her hand into Catherine’s. “Ready.”

Catherine kept their pace steady and sure, chatting along the way to help keep Sophie’s attention on other things, rather than the man who followed their every move. It didn’t help. Curious by nature, her daughter could not stop glancing toward the clump of shrubbery protecting the man from her inquisitive eyes.

“What did I tell you, young lady?” Catherine followed the query with a gentle pull-squeeze of her daughter’s hand.

Sophie whipped her head around so fast that Catherine was surprised she didn’t hear it snap. “Don’t talk to him or gape at him.” She angled around to look behind them. “But, Mama, he’s following us now.”

Catherine halted mid-stride. Her heart plummeted all the way down to her toes. When it started the slow, sluggish ride back up to her chest, a wave of murderous rage licked through her veins. She stashed Sophie behind her and met the man’s eerie gaze.

He stood thirty feet away, watchful and patient. He neither spoke, nor indicated chagrin for having been caught. Nor did he move.

“What do you want, sir?” she asked.

His head tilted to the side like a dog’s did when considering the best way to pounce on a cat. He didn’t respond, only pointed toward her house.

She glanced between Winter’s Hollow and the ugly man, trying to understand his unspoken message. The attempt only confused her more.

Grabbing her daughter’s hand, Catherine pushed them into a faster pace. She nudged her daughter in front of her, aiming to keep herself between Sophie and the awful man.

He cut them off.

“Stand aside, sir,” Catherine said. “We’re on our way to meet with Lord Somerton.”

Shaking his head, he once again indicated the path leading them to Winter’s Hollow.

As Catherine’s grip tightened around Sophie’s small hand, a keen sense of vulnerability shook her to the core. She had no options. Though he was a small man, Catherine detected a wiry strength about him. If they tried to run, he would catch them.

“Mama,” Sophie whispered.

The strange man’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward.

Making up her mind, she gave her daughter’s hand a reassuring squeeze and marched toward Winter’s Hollow, praying she hadn’t sentenced them to a terrible fate. An image of Meghan McCarthy’s broken body surfaced, and Catherine’s terror knew no bounds. Had this man killed her? Was he the elusive father? She shoved aside the repulsive thought.

When they reached the garden, Catherine glanced back and found their tormentor gone. She hurried them through the gate and into the house. Once she clicked the lock in place, she felt a measure of relief until her maid Mary entered and announced that she had a visitor. “A Mr.

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