The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,68
in peace and long-established harmony.
It was no wonder he felt so compelled to protect them.
The weight of that responsibility was quite real; he felt it keenly—the need to see them safely through the coming storm, one he’d brought with him, the vagaries of which he was far more familiar with than they.
He couldn’t see any end to that feeling; it had taken root so deeply inside him. He wanted to be their shield into the future—if they would allow it, if they would accept such protection from him.
If Ellie would have him.
He glanced at her again. Through the past days, they’d drawn steadily closer—as witnessed by that tantalizing kiss—but with the issue of the painting hanging between them…
No. He faced forward. It would be wrong to speak now—not yet.
They’d been walking steadily toward the house. Ahead of them, Harry and Maggie reached the terrace, went up the steps, opened a glass-paned door, and slipped inside.
As they neared the steps, Ellie murmured, “Just so you know, I don’t regret so much as one second of what transpired on the bridge.”
He looked at her, waited until she glanced his way, then trapped her gaze. “That’s good to know, because I don’t, either.”
Speculation shone in her eyes, just as much as it flared in his mind.
Not yet.
He forced himself to look ahead. He guided her up the steps, then she drew her arm from his and led him into the house.
They parted in the gallery; the household kept country hours, and it would soon be time to get ready for dinner.
Godfrey let himself into his room and closed the door. Wally would be up soon to fuss over his wet boots and the damp greatcoat Godfrey shrugged off and laid over a chair.
He walked to the window and looked out at the park, slowly being swallowed by deepening shadows.
Courtesy of this day of rest, what he had to do stood clear in his mind. His present conundrum was: Which way of doing that would best serve the Hinckleys?
He wished he could consult Ryder—or even Rand or Kit—but they were too far away. He couldn’t lean on their wise counsel. This time, he had to rely solely on his own judgment.
The longer he stood and stared at nothing, the clearer in his mind his way forward grew. He needed to formulate a plan that would fulfill his duty to his patrons and himself, while shielding the Hinckleys and guiding them along the path that held the greatest hope for them.
On leaving the Hall, Masterton rode hard toward Ripon. He was halfway there when he recalled that Jeffers had met the Hinckleys at the church in Kirkby Malzeard.
Hauling his hunter to a plunging halt, Masterton swore. “The bastard must be staying somewhere near there.”
After a second of rapid calculation, he set his jaw, dragged his horse’s head around, and raced back the way he’d come. He continued past the Hall at a reckless pace, hoping to catch Jeffers on the road.
Luck was with him; Jeffers hadn’t been hurrying. Masterton caught up with him on the other side of Galphay.
Jeffers heard the pounding hooves and slowed to look behind him, then continued trotting slowly along.
Biting back another curse, Masterton drew alongside. It took him a moment to settle his mount to the slower pace. Then he looked at Jeffers and, eyes narrowed, demanded, “What the devil do you think you’re doing, cozying up to the Hinckleys?”
Jeffers turned his head and regarded Masterton with a steady, level gaze. Nothing in Jeffers’s expression suggested he was in any way perturbed by Masterton’s challenge. “As you’re already aware, I’m in the area casting my eye over our firm’s business interests.”
Masterton snorted derisively.
Jeffers faintly smiled and looked ahead. “I find it always pays to have a solid understanding of the realities of any undertaking.”
Masterton scowled. “As regards the Hinckleys, what undertaking would that be?”
“What, indeed?” Jeffers replied. “I’ve been asking myself that for the past half hour.”
Masterton bridled. “Look here, Jeffers. I don’t know what your game is, but you can steer clear of the Hinckleys. You and your master might have got your claws into Morris and Pyne, but Hinckley’s a different kettle of fish. There’s no reason for him to fall into your clutches, so no reason for you to ingratiate yourself there.”
Masterton’s tone was openly aggressive, but Jeffers remained unmoved.
“Do you think so?” He arched his brows as if contemplating the question.
When, goaded, Masterton snapped, “Yes, I damn well do!” Jeffers looked at Masterton.