Raven (Gentlemen of the Order #2) - Adele Clee Page 0,15

“Jessica!” she gasped, jumping to her feet. “Now you will see what we must contend with.”

Finlay followed Sophia out into the draughty depths of the great hall. A faint sliver of moonlight shone through the high leaded windows, drawing attention to the display of gruesome trophy heads on the wall. But he was more interested in the cloaked figure moving stealthily through the passageway.

Sophia saw the devil, too. She sucked in a breath and grabbed Finlay’s forearm. Instinct had him covering her hand. Thankfully, he didn’t have time to dwell on how it felt to touch her again.

“Jessica?” he called, though a quick assessment of the person’s limping gait made him correct his assessment. “Mrs Friswell!”

The housekeeper came to an abrupt halt. She paused before approaching them and lowering her hood. “Forgive me, my lady, sir.” She was breathless despite being a slender woman of robust constitution. “I didn’t wish to cause a disturbance.”

“Where have you been at this time of night?” Finlay spoke in the stern voice he often used when consumed with suspicion. “We’re miles from the nearest house or inn.”

“To church, sir.” Arrogance tainted the housekeeper’s tone, an arrogance unbefitting a servant.

“To do what exactly?” It seemed a ridiculous question, but to detect lies and untruths he needed to engage her in conversation.

“To pray.”

Finlay studied the middle-aged woman whose complexion was as pale as a cadaver. Perhaps the heavy shadows beneath her piercing green eyes stemmed from sleepless nights tending to Jessica. And yet it was Anne—the maid with a constant case of the fidgets—who slept in Jessica’s chamber.

“Pray for whom?”

“Miss Draper. I visit the church every night, to pray she has a restful sleep.”

A benevolent gesture. So why did he note animosity?

“What is that smell?”

They all sniffed and inhaled deeply.

“I can smell nothing but herbs,” Sophia offered.

It was an earthy scent, similar to mint but not as potent.

“We were collecting herbs from the garden,” Mrs Friswell replied. “Thyme and sage.”

“Sage is what I can smell,” he said, bringing the matter to a close. Yet he knew this woman kept a secret. “That is all, unless your mistress has further need of you.”

“No, you may retire, Mrs Friswell.” Sophia’s smile held no hint of mistrust. “And I thank you for your continued prayers. Let’s hope we have a peaceful night.”

Mrs Friswell inclined her head respectfully to her mistress but threw Finlay a hostile glare. As she walked away, she left a trail of damp footprints on the flagstones. Mud clung to the hem of her cloak.

“Mrs Friswell,” he called and waited for her to turn around. “Did you go anywhere other than the church this evening?”

In her hesitation, he could almost hear her panicked thoughts.

“I know you went into the woods,” he wanted to say, but it paid to be patient, to hold his tongue.

“To the cottage to deliver Blent’s supper. He requires sustenance after taking the foxhounds out on their nightly patrol.”

“It’s a two-mile walk around the perimeter,” Sophia explained.

“Yes, we walked the length of the boundary this afternoon.” He fixed the housekeeper with a penetrating stare. “That explains why your boots are damp. Little escapes me, Mrs Friswell. You would do well to remember that. Good night.”

The woman dipped a reluctant curtsy and went on her way.

“You made it sound as if she were out cavorting with the devil,” Sophia whispered as the housekeeper’s booted steps faded into the distance. “Mrs Friswell has served me faithfully these last five years.”

“I don’t doubt it, but something is amiss.”

The housekeeper hated enquiry agents or hated interference or hated men, that much was obvious. In a few days, Finlay would be away from this house and its secrets and ghosts. When he left, he would do so knowing Sophia had nothing to fear.

“It’s late,” he said, dropping his gaze to her bare feet. “You’ll catch a chill standing on these flagstones.”

Sophia looked up at him and smiled, though it was evident these worrying events had taken their toll. “Are you concerned for my health, Mr Cole?”

“Jessica needs you well and thinking clearly.” He knew cupping her cheek was a mistake, but she looked so fragile standing amid the faint shimmer of moonlight. “You must focus, must be strong if you’re to help with this investigation.”

He almost sank to his knees when Sophia touched his hand, almost hiked up her nightgown and pressed his mouth to her womanhood.

“Then I shall try to get a good night’s rest,” she said.

He snatched his hand away before he cupped her nape, drew