in Brighton, basking in the sun and listening to the waves, my situation could be far worse. I could be consorting with a man weighing twenty-five stone, thrice my age, with a propensity for greasy foods.”
An image of Silas skulking in her entrance hall surfaced. After her first evening with Sebastian, she had returned home before the sun had crested the horizon. Silas had been waiting. He’d emerged from a darkened corner, the play of shadows over his ugly features making him appear more insidious than ever. The sight of him had come close to dropping her in a dead faint. Every night thereafter followed the same routine. His only greeting was a question: “Do you have it?”
And each time, she would shake her head and brace herself for his reprisal. Other than his lips thinning in displeasure, he had not reacted, simply stepped back and nodded toward the staircase. She had wasted no time in complying.
“Given that dreadful image,” her mother said, “I shall view this situation in a more positive light, but I still prefer that you were not involved at all.”
“Had I not drawn attention to myself and Jeffrey’s letters, neither Lord Somerton nor Mr. Cochran would have given me a second’s thought.”
“Where do we go from here?” her mother asked.
A good question. “I must proceed with my search until I find something of value for Mr. Cochran. With any luck, the indecipherable missive I found will assuage their demands.” Catherine squeezed her mother’s hand. “Can you continue watching over Sophie?”
“Of course,” her mother said, sounding put out that she even had to ask.
“Thank you.” Catherine recalled Cochran’s parting words. Finish what you started, Mrs. Ashcroft, or I will slit your daughter’s throat. “Promise you will send for me the moment you believe something has gone amiss.”
Her mother patted Catherine’s hand. “Be at ease, daughter. I will not let you down in this.”
The muscles in Catherine’s throat constricted. “I never doubted it, Mother.”
She sent Catherine a wan smile, appreciating the small falsehood.
A whoop of laughter broke into their reverie of past failures and future happiness. They looked up to find Sophie tearing across the meadow, her kite flying thirty feet above, Mrs. Clarke running alongside, encouraging her with gentle instruction.
Before she realized what she was about, Catherine was on her feet, clapping. Chagrined, she glanced over at her mother, who stood beside her, wearing the same proud smile, her hands clasped together at her chest. They grinned at each other and then turned as one to cheer on their little girl.
***
Sebastian cursed his impatience, even while the heel of his boots tore into the graveled path leading to his stables. With hours to go before Catherine made her nightly appearance, he could no longer tolerate the sound of his own interminable pacing. He needed something to take his mind off the widow and her penchant for vacating his bed in the middle of the night.
For the last two evenings, they had indulged their carnal desires, and afterward, she would crawl from his bed and set about searching his home with a thoroughness that would put many of his agents to shame. After their first night together, when he was still suffering the effects of his beating and fell into a deep sleep, she had made the mistake in thinking he was not easily awakened. But sleep was something he needed very little of and, as a result, it took him awhile to fall into slumber. Had she waited a little longer before deserting him, she might have pulled off the deception without his knowledge. But she had not, and he had been forced to follow her about the house as she combed through his personal items.
A movement by the paddock fence caught his eye. His steps slowed as he made out the form of a small child sitting atop the rail and watching his groomsman exercising Sebastian’s prized white Arabian.
Sophie Ashcroft. Sebastian closed his eyes and counted to five. He could pretend he hadn’t seen her and continue on to the stables, where he intended to muck out stalls, brush down horses, clean tack—anything—that would release the tension strumming through him.
Opening his eyes, he noted her precarious perch and knew he couldn’t walk away. Her mother would never forgive him if he allowed harm to come to the child. He would not analyze why he cared about the feelings of a woman who made passionate love to him one moment and deceived him the next.