this man could command her with little effort if he set his mind to it.
He took her lips in a full, melting kiss. For the next several minutes, time held no sway, discovery gave no pause. When he lifted his head, he asked, “Did I manage to take your mind off whatever is troubling you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But not for long, I’m afraid.” She made to sit up, though her boneless body refused to cooperate.
Without a word, he supported her next effort. “I suppose you’ve recalled your earlier victory and wish to collect.”
“With some things, my lord, you will find I am not a patient woman.” She rolled to her feet and retrieved her rose-colored wrap from the foot of the bed.
He sighed, grabbing their wine glasses as he stood. “Let us move to my bedchamber, where there is a chair that won’t crumble beneath my weight.”
Catherine glanced at the feminine chairs dotting the room and smiled at the image of the earl perched on the edge of the dainty furniture. “By all means, my lord.”
He set their drinks on a small side table separating two large wingback chairs and then strode to the bell-pull, giving it two tugs. “Perhaps now would be a good time to start using my Christian name—Sebastian.”
Sebastian. A strong name, yet gentle around the edges. Much like its bearer.
“Thank you,” she said. “You may call me Catherine.”
He indicated one of the chairs. “Please sit.”
After taking the opposite chair, he said, “What I am about to tell you mustn’t leave this room.”
She clasped her hands together. “I understand.”
“Not good enough, Catherine,” he said. “I must ask for your word.”
Her jaw clenched. “You have it.”
“You were right to question the reasons behind your husband’s murder.”
“So he wasn’t killed by footpads?”
“No.”
“Who killed him?”
“We don’t know,” he said. “We’re hoping the correspondence he sent you will shed some light on the killer’s identity.”
Even though she expected foul play, she still had a hard time understanding. “Why would anyone want to harm Jeffrey?”
“Until we know for sure who killed him, I can’t answer that question.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
A muscle jumped in his right cheek. “The Foreign Office.”
“Foreign Office?” On some level, she had hoped Mr. Cochran was wrong about the earl’s connection to the government. “Doesn’t that branch of the government handle foreign affairs, rather than domestic?”
He began twirling his signet ring. “I believe we have veered off our original topic, madam.”
“Madam, is it?” Her spine straightened. “I disagree. Everything we’ve discussed is intricately woven together. Tell me, my lord,” she said, matching his formality. “Are the facts behind my husband’s death a recent revelation, or have you known it wasn’t footpads all along?” When he remained silent, she prodded harder. “Were you aware of this when I came to London? When I begged you to read his letters?”
The twirling stopped. “Catherine, it’s complicated—”
A knock echoed through the room, making Catherine jump. Although his expression did not change, Catherine sensed the earl’s relief at the interruption.
He strode to the door and accepted a covered tray from one of the maids. “After you turn back Mrs. Ashcroft’s bed, that will be all tonight.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
Once the maid was gone, he slid the tray onto the table separating their chairs. “I asked Mrs. Fox to prepare something a little more substantial than fruit and cheese once we finished our baths.” He lifted the cover and inhaled. “Smoked salmon and steamed asparagus. I hope you don’t mind the casual setting.”
With the truth of his deception echoing in her ears, food was anathema. One bite of the delicious-smelling meal and she would spew all over his expensive carpet. “Not at all. But I am no longer desirous of eating.”
He re-covered Mrs. Fox’s hard work and stood staring at the silver dome, silent and contemplative. “Many times over the years, I have held back information that could bring comfort to the recipient.” He impaled her with his gaze. “None have preyed upon my conscience. Until now.”
Catherine’s heart constricted, for she understood the cost of such an admission. The knowledge did little to soothe the sting of her humiliation, but she was heartened to hear he took no pleasure in his deception.
“I don’t understand your silence,” she said. “Are you trying to protect Jeffrey in some way? Do you fear for my safety? Or is there some other reason?”
“Yes.”
She waited for him to expound, to deliver a more satisfying answer. He did not.
Frustrated and suddenly, overwhelmingly tired, Catherine rose. “Since our conversation has all but ground to a