new valet lingered in the rooms. It didn’t matter if he was there. She could easily be looking for her husband, just as if she hadn’t known the precise moment he left.
She knocked casually on the connecting door and went through. The rooms were empty, so it was simple to walk through and open the cabinet. She took down the beautifully polished and inlaid box and opened it to reveal the two ornately carved dueling pistols. Removing one, she closed the box and returned it to its proper place before closing the cabinet and returning to her own chamber.
There, she placed the pistol in the drawer of her bedside table, on top of Barden’s crumpled, threatening letter. She closed the drawer, then straightened with grim determination. This would be the hardest dinner she had ever taken in his company.
Of course, she had no intention of going to Chester tomorrow. For one thing, she would have no money. But as soon as she entered the drawing room, she made a point of asking Georgianna for her company on the morrow.
“Of course,” Georgianna enthused. “Oh, I have such ideas on how to dress you! We shall transform you from merely beautiful to stunningly so!”
Startled, Deborah laughed. “I wish us both luck with that. It will involve an early start, I warn you.”
“I will summon my maid,” Georgianna said bravely. “With copious amounts of coffee,”
“Don’t want an escort, do you?” Dudley said uneasily.
“I have already been rejected,” Christopher reassured him.
“We’ll take one of your footmen,” Georgianna said as though bestowing favor. “He will complain less.”
The rest of the evening felt like agony. Although Deborah was tempted to flee to her rooms, where at least she could stop pretending, she did not wish to arouse suspicion. So she sat on in the drawing room, pretending to read while Georgianna chattered over her embroidery, and Dudley and Christopher talked about Rupert.
“I’ve asked my man in London to look into it,” Christopher said. “I’m hoping he will have definite answers by the time I go up to London next week. If they are what we seek, we can have the arrest warrant rescinded, and Rupert may come home at last.”
“I have written out a signed statement as to what he said to me afterward, and why I did not then act upon it,” Dudley said.
“Good,” Christopher said. “It can’t have been easy,” he added, and Dudley smiled gratefully.
“Then how in Hades do we let Rupert know it’s safe to come home?” Lord Hawfield demanded.
Christopher considered. “There’s an inn that I suspect knows how to reach him. But if we are out of the country, I should let my man handle that part of the matter, too. He is more used to the—er—seamy side of life.”
“Who is this low fellow?” Hawfield demanded.
“Not as low as you might imagine.”
Deborah closed her book. “I think I shall retire early before our expedition. Good night, all.”
As he often did, Christopher accompanied her to the door and opened it for her. Beyond, the gallery was deserted, and to her dismay, Christopher stepped outside the room and took her hand.
“Allow me to join you later,” he murmured, his eyes full of promise.
He had joined her and slept in her bed each night since they had returned from the adventure with Rupert. His presence as much as his loving had become as necessary to her as breathing. For that reason, she had hoped simply to lock the connecting door to discourage him.
And tomorrow, she could tell him all.
But for now, he awaited an answer.
She forced a bright smile. “Not this night, Christopher. I need to sleep before my hectic day’s shopping.”
“I will let you sleep.”
She swallowed hard. “I will sleep better alone.”
The hurt in his eyes almost broke her heart, but she had to be strong, had to inflict this wound to keep him safe. Tomorrow, she would explain. Tomorrow.
“Goodnight,” she said cheerfully and tripped along the gallery toward the staircase, hoping he could not see the shame and anguish that crushed her spirit.
Chapter Twenty
Oh, yes, something was going on.
Christopher closed the drawing room door on his wife and paced back across the floor, forcing his mind to think beyond blind hurt. Was she keeping him away because of him, the man at the inn? Because she had some secret assignation, or some trouble to resolve?
Had she discovered she was mistaken and his loving, in fact, disgusted her?
No, he didn’t believe that. No one could fake such instinctive response, such wonder, as she