Checkmate, My Lord (10 page)

Glancing at his timepiece, he said, “I must be on my way, I’m afraid.”

The widow nudged her daughter toward the door, but Sophie wheeled around after only a few feet. “Can we ask him now, Mama?”

“No. Now is not the time.”

Sebastian noticed the widow kept her gaze averted.

Unperturbed, the girl tried a different tactic. “Do you have horses, sir?”

“I have a great many horses.”

“A white one?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“A black one?”

“Of course,” he said, amused despite his best efforts.

“A brown one?”

“Sophie,” her mother scolded, eyeing him.

“Well, Mama,” the girl said. “If the earl has a black and white horse, he must have a brown one.”

Mrs. Ashcroft turned her daughter toward the door. “No,
Lord
Somerton
mustn’t.”

“May I come see your horses, sir?” the girl asked over her shoulder while being ushered out of the room.

Sebastian said nothing. The last thing he needed was a curious girl running around his estate, no matter how enchanting.

“Sophie, I told you,” the widow said in exasperation. “Lord Somerton’s a busy man. He can’t set his duties aside to play nursemaid to you. Now run along.”

“But Mama—”

The widow’s glare cut her daughter’s complaint short.

Sophie dipped into a hurried curtsy. “Good day to you, Earl.”

“Lord Somerton,” her mother corrected again.

The vixen smiled, and Sebastian knew she cared not a whit about such formalities.

“Good day, Lord Somerton.”

He inclined his head. “Enjoy your ride with the vicar.”

Once the sound of her daughter’s running feet faded, the widow turned to him. “I’m sorry, my lord. Sophie’s horse-obsessed and begs an introduction wherever we go.”

“Quite understandable.”

“I believe you wanted to see these.” She held out a packet of letters, tied together with a black ribbon. The ribbon trembled.

“Thank you.” He studied her face as he accepted the bundle, but her even features gave nothing away. “I know how hard it must be to share your private correspondence.”

“Yes, but worth it if they help you find my husband’s murderer.” She swallowed. “Did you learn anything from the others I gave you?” She turned the full force of those beautiful eyes on him.

“Unfortunately, no.” He held up the new stash. “We need to decipher these in order to fully understand Ashcroft’s message.”

“I see.”

“Tell me, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He stepped closer, his gaze sliding over the delicate contours of her face. “What will you do if it’s decided that your husband’s death was an unfortunate case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Her eyes widened a fraction, but her answer came swift and determined. “I’ll take the letters to someone else.”

Sebastian’s body went hard. Desire like nothing he had ever felt before rushed through his veins. Not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to have such a fierce champion. “Are you this loyal to everyone you care about?”

“What can you mean, sir?” she asked. “Would you not do the same for a wife?”

“I have never been married, madam. Therefore, I cannot answer your question.” Closer now, he drew in a long, slow breath until her scent drenched his senses. Tantalizing and fresh. Understated, yet feminine. His chest expanded around another deep inhalation. “But I find I like the idea of a wife defending my cause. No matter the obstacles placed in her path.”

“You make me sound heroic.” She folded her hands in front of her. “I assure you, I am not. Merely practical.”

He studied the pulse point on her slender throat, noted its frantic rhythm. Blood streamed into his extremities. “I don’t believe you. My tenants provided several testimonials yesterday that would make you eligible for sainthood.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said in a breathless voice. “Unlike your tenants, I had nothing to lose by holding Mr. Blake accountable for his actions.”

“Yes, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He raised his hand and brushed the backs of his fingers along the curve of her neck. “Unlike
you
, not everyone would have bothered to right the injustice.”

“M-my, lord, what are you doing?”

He settled a hand on her waist, bringing their bodies closer together. His gaze transfixed on her lush full lips. Lips that would mold to his in an exquisite embrace. His insides curled into a tight knot of anticipation. He shouldn’t want her, his agent’s widow, but he did, with staggering force. Ashcroft’s final request faded behind his fevered desire.

It was then he knew she was in danger. And perhaps so was he.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“My lord—”

Soft flesh, luscious warmth, and an inexplicable rightness assailed his senses the moment he covered her mouth with his. He deepened the kiss and pulled her unresisting body into the cradle of his arms. Her delicate frame was a flawless fit, made for him alone.

The small hands resting on his chest inched their way around his torso and squeezed with a force that verged on desperation. He cradled her sweet face with unsteady hands. His breaths came more rapidly and his body sought a closer contact. He was losing control, and the realization cut through the fog of desire clouding his mind. Ending the kiss, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and fought to temper his erratic heartbeat.

Think, Somerton!
Catherine was under his protection and in mourning. Two inviolable conditions. Until a year and a day, her marriage vows still breathed life, a condition he knew she would honor even though her marriage died years ago. That she had accepted his kiss was unexpected and more than a little stirring.

“I believe it best if you release me now, my lord.”

Removing his arms and backing away proved surprisingly difficult. She took a moment to smooth out the creases in her dress and tuck a few stray hairs back in place. Sebastian watched it all with a resignation that lay heavily on his chest. He did not want to lose this. Not yet. His honor be damned.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone against his better judgment, or the last time a woman had compelled him to lose control. Both situations would normally cause him to pause, to step away and not look back. Maintaining control kept those around him safe.

But he couldn’t turn away. His attraction to the widow was tangible and invigorating. Could he do it? Could he pretend to live a normal life in Showbury? For a few short days?

He had to try. For a period of time, he wanted to submerse himself in raw, unadulterated pleasure. Then, and only then, would he go back to his cold, passionless existence. If he did not seize this rare opportunity, he would regret it always. And he was damned tired of regrets. He would deal with the guilt later.

“Should I apologize?” he asked.

She sent him a sad smile. “No more so than I, my lord.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not sure I could have managed any real sincerity.”

“You do not mince words, do you?”

“On the contrary,” he said. “I have done so on many occasions, but with you I do not think it necessary. Or was I wrong?”

“No.”

Her quiet confirmation seared his blood. “I have need of your services, after all.”

“E-excuse me?”

“Thanks to Mr. Blake, my tenants have become rather suspicious of my commitment.”

“In time, they will see the truth of the matter.”

“I agree,” he said. “With your help.”

“Rest assured,” she said, “I will do what I can to spread the word of your steward’s perfidy. A casual word in Mrs. Walker’s ear should set things into motion.”

“If you are willing, I should like more from you than a whispered word to Showbury’s most dedicated gossip.”

Pink crept into her cheeks, and her lips thinned. “I’m not sure what else I can offer, my lord. You were not interested in my knowledge of the local craftsmen.”

He slid the letters into an inner pocket of his coat. Using the back of his forefinger, he caressed the line of her jaw. “That was not a lack of interest you witnessed.”

The color in her cheeks deepened, and her uneven breaths peppered his wrist. “What was it, then?”

“Pride.” A sin in which he had an overabundance.

“Pride?”

He removed his hand. “Yes.” The admission was not an easy one, nor was his motive for revealing his secret. “I did not think I needed your help. However, my tenants have shown me the error in my logic.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Everyone I spoke to yesterday was rather content to continue working with you.”

She frowned. “You must be mistaken.”

“I am not.” He canted his head to the side. “I’m interested in learning why you think so, though.”

“It’s of no importance.” She waved his comment aside. “You would have me act as your steward?”

“Only until I hire a replacement,” he said. “If you are willing, I could use your help in creating a schedule of repairs.”

Her eyes brightened at the suggestion, and Sebastian was struck again by her conventional beauty. Beauty that became less common every time he spoke to her.

“Of course,” she said. “But what of Grayson?”

“He has offered his assistance, should you need it.”

“You do not wish him to take on the responsibility?”

“No,” he said. “I already gave Grayson the short list of repairs you provided. He’s content to assist rather than direct.”

She considered him for a moment. “You appear quite capable of organizing the tenants’ complaints yourself.”

“Capable, yes. Willing, no.” His callous answer caused her eyes to narrow. “I have other issues requiring my attention while in Showbury.”

Her gaze dulled, and Sebastian wondered at its source.

“When might you begin preparing a schedule?” he asked.

“I’ll start on it tonight.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, my lord,” she said. “The less time I spend on the schedule, the faster the repairs can commence.”

Again, her thoughtfulness had a warming effect on his starving emotions. Gratitude manifested into a ball of heat; heat spiraled into desire. Of its own accord, his voice dropped. “Are you an early riser, Mrs. Ashcroft?”

Her feminine instincts could not miss the latent need underlining his words. Instead of retreating, she met his challenge. Her gaze dipped to his lips. “Generally, my lord.”

An image of her lithe body, aching for release and tangled in his sheets, flashed before his eyes, sharp and clear. His cock hardened, pulsed with near painful intensity.

A whoop of girlish laughter outside penetrated the intimate confines of the library. Familiar reality iced his heated blood. His spine straightened. “I’ll send my carriage around to collect you at nine, then. You can show me what you have over breakfast.”

Her perceptive gaze flicked to the window, to where her daughter chased something too small to be seen from this distance. Sebastian watched the widow’s cautious enthusiasm for her new project leech away. The upturned crinkles around her eyes fell into joyless slants and her lips thinned into a line of resignation.

“No need to bother your staff, sir. As I mentioned before, my horse knows the way, as do my feet.”

“Very well.” He bowed a farewell. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Ashcroft? I really must be going.”

“Yes, of course.”

She guided him through the house, out the front door, and then stopped to await his approaching carriage. A heavy silence hovered between them as they watched his restless team of horses advance. The black geldings tossed back their sleek heads and dug their massive hooves into the ground until his driver Miggs drew them to a halt a short distance away.

Sebastian had an unnerving need to throw back his own head to release the tension thrumming through his body.

“Thank you again for seeing to my daughter’s welfare,” she said. “Sophie will be retelling the tale of her rescue to the servants for days. I would not have been as successful in keeping her secret.” She glanced up at him, revealing a feminine vulnerability few men could ignore.

As it happened, he was one of the few.

He hadn’t earned a reputation as a cold bastard for no reason. The brutal slaying of his mentor over a decade ago served as a constant reminder of how one’s enemies will use every tool at their disposal to get what they want. Even murdering a man’s wife. And torturing a spymaster’s ward.

“Excuse me, my lord?” A footman appeared at his side, holding out Sebastian’s hat and gloves. He welcomed the distraction and accepted the servant’s offering.

He needed to establish a few boundaries for their new partnership, though. The last thing he wanted was her daughter skipping around Bellamere Park, getting into God knew what and reminding him of everything he had set aside for the welfare of his country.

“Mrs. Ashcroft, it’s been a long time since I had a child in the house. I find that I work best in a less spirited atmosphere.”

Her chin lifted a notch. “I hadn’t considered bringing my daughter along, my lord, but I thank you for the warning.”

Her chiding retort bit into his conscience. Before he did something ridiculous like apologize or kiss her again, he tipped his hat in her direction. “Good day, madam.”

She produced an abbreviated curtsy. “My lord.”

Sebastian settled against the carriage bench, calling upon his notorious control not to acknowledge the intriguing widow as he rumbled by. No matter what occurred between Catherine and him, he could not allow sentiment to enter the picture.

Because emotion was a weakness, and weakness killed loved ones.

August 13

Sebastian stood at the window of the sunny breakfast room, holding a steaming cup of coffee while awaiting Catherine’s arrival. Yesterday’s kiss fired through his mind at unexpected intervals, tying his stomach into an uncomfortable mass of need.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried once again to block out the succulent aromas of sausage, bacon, and poached eggs coming from the sideboard. He tried not to recall their texture and taste, their slow glide down his throat. Because if he did, all would be lost. A floodgate would open and last night’s indulgence would push to the fore. The coffee helped a little. When the scent of food threatened to overwhelm him, he would bury his nose in the pungent steam of his morning brew.

After forcing himself to eat a late evening meal, he had closeted himself off in the study until the wee hours of the morning. In that time, he’d added only one more name to his list of agents. His progress was slow, painful. No matter how much he reasoned this was the right course of action, each consonant and vowel ripped through him like a stab of betrayal.

Adding each agent’s code name and current location would come next, although the thought of having such damaging information in one place nauseated him all over again. But the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to see a visual map of everyone’s whereabouts. He might be missing a potential ally or an opportunity to redirect his enemy’s efforts.

If nothing else, he could transfer everything he knew to paper, study it, and then burn the record, rather than hand it over to Reeves. The strategy steadied his stomach, somewhat. Having an alternative plan—an escape route, of sorts—removed some of the pressure he’d been carrying around since receiving Reeves’s demand.

A low rumbling disturbance near the entry hall caught his attention.

“Lord Somerton can finish his damned breakfast while I speak my mind,” a man said. “Stand aside, Grayson, or I shall have to…” The intruder’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, no doubt promising all sorts of retribution.

Sebastian’s former ward, Viscount Danforth, was a master of collecting secrets—of the personal variety. Even poor Grayson would not be immune to Ethan deBeau’s machinations.

Taking his seat at the table, Sebastian snapped open a copy of the
Times
and waited for the oncoming storm. He didn’t have long to wait.

Within seconds, heavy footsteps pounded down the corridor, and then a tall, disheveled rascal entered the breakfast room. “Somerton.”

“Danforth.” Sebastian continued scanning the newspaper, waiting. Ethan’s restless energy reminded him of a warship’s 32-pounder long gun, with its dark, cavernous muzzle staring out a square gun port, primed and ready for ignition.

“What brings you to Bellamere? I thought you were tracking down your mystery savior.”

“Trail went cold,” Danforth grumbled, making himself a plate from the sideboard.

“Your savior is going to great pains to avoid discovery.” He paused. “I wonder why.”

He felt, more than saw, Danforth’s aggrieved glance. “When I find the hooded bastard, I’ll be sure to pose your question.” His plate clattered against the table. “How are you doing?”

Sebastian raised a brow. “Well enough. And you?”

“I spent four and a half hours in Superintendent Reeves’s office, answering questions about our last mission.” Danforth leveled his gaze on Sebastian. “He was inordinately interested in your role.”

Sebastian settled back in his chair, projecting a calm he did not feel. “We discussed this in London. I’m here so the Foreign Office can conduct a thorough investigation into the matter without my interference.” He rubbed his fingertips over the newspaper. “Latymer’s scheming ran deep in the organization. Reeves is no doubt wondering why I did not detect the man’s treachery. I certainly would in his shoes.” The question of why he hadn’t discerned Latymer’s double spying had weighed on his thoughts since the day they discovered Danforth’s sister, Cora—also known as the Raven—in the man’s cellar.

“That’s all well and good,” Danforth said. “But I’ve already given them an accounting of those events. To have to relive it a second time was not how I had hoped to spend yesterday afternoon.”

“No, I suspect not,” he said. “Did you come here only to inform me of your deposition?”

“No,” he said. “Helsford’s busy with the Littleton case. So Cora asked me to retrieve Ashcroft’s remaining letters. Did the widow hand them over?”

“Yes, four more.”

“All is well in that regard, I take it.”

“She is nothing more than a wife trying to make sense of a heinous crime,” Sebastian said. “I detect no ill intent.”

“Finally a piece of good news.”

“Where’s Cora?”

“With Helsford, of course.” The viscount lifted a fork full of sausage to his mouth, pausing. “After surviving their recent nightmare, I doubt Helsford’s going to allow my sister to stray more than a dozen feet from his side ever again.”

Not that anyone could prevent Cora from doing anything she set her mind to. However, they had all underestimated her gaoler. A condition Sebastian had no desire to repeat. “A day or two more, and I would have delivered the letters myself,” Sebastian said. “There was no reason to make a special trip.”

“That’s what I said, but my sister had other ideas.”

“Falling into bad habits again?”

“Cora’s been through so much,” Danforth muttered. “Directing me and Helsford around takes her mind off other things.”

Like being tortured for a fortnight. Sebastian pushed the thought away. He had already spent hours punishing himself. Right now, he needed to focus on the restless man in front of him.

“Helsford asked me to deliver this.” He tossed a sealed missive onto the table. “So I can’t blame my presence entirely on Cora.” A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Although it’s a great deal more fun making the runt take responsibility.”

Sebastian smiled, his gaze sliding over the nondescript black seal. It was good to hear Danforth’s aggrieved tone. He knew when Ethan and Cora were forecasting doom upon one another that the world had somehow righted itself.

No matter how hard he’d tried to keep an emotional distance between him and his two former wards, they paid no attention. They did not fear his quelling looks or stony silence, nor his sharp rebukes. That was not to say they didn’t respect him, or give him a wide berth at times. They simply kept coming around, invading his home at unexpected times—like now—and spoke to him as they would any intimate colleague. It was maddening and, if he were honest, comforting.

“Danforth,” Sebastian said, “there is no need for you to stay. I have a few ends to tie up here over the next sennight and then I’ll be returning to London.”

“What of the Foreign Office’s investigation?”

“What of it?” he asked. “I’ve nothing to hide. It’s my agents’ identities I’m most concerned about, but I’m starting to question my decision on that score.”

A stunned expression crossed Danforth’s face. “You can’t allow them access to our identities, Chief.” The viscount reverted to the form of address most of the Nexus agents used. “It would make us all vulnerable.”

“Yes,” Sebastian agreed. “But it might be even more dangerous to have all the knowledge stored in one man’s memory.”

Danforth’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“That’s a naive perspective, Danforth, and you know it.”

The younger man stared down at his plate, his hands gripping his utensils with bruising force. “Everything is changing.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t bloody like it.”

“Few of us do.”

The viscount crammed half a piece of toast into his mouth, chewing with such vigor that Sebastian was certain the man’s jaw would ache later.

“What now, sir?”

Sebastian toyed with the stem of his glass. “Return to London and continue to keep an eye on Reeves. Let me know if you perceive a significant shift in the superintendent’s intentions.” He dropped the sealed missive on the table. “I have the letters for Helsford, too.”

The tension visibly eased from Danforth’s shoulders. “Consider it done, Chief.” He began stuffing his mouth full of Cook’s famous hot cakes.

“Pardon, my lord,” Grayson said from the breakfast room doorway. “Mrs. Ashcroft has arrived.”

Danforth slowly transferred his attention from the hot cakes to Grayson, a rogue’s grin spreading across his handsome face.

Sebastian’s muscles stiffened at the sight, and he fought to keep his features neutral. “Behave.”

The bastard’s smile grew brighter.

“Grayson, show her into the study. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The butler bowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Having breakfast with Ashcroft’s widow,” Danforth said. “No wonder you wanted me to rush back to London.” His expression turned serious. “Have you told her yet?”

Sliding back his chair, Sebastian said, “Concentrate on Reeves and Ashcroft’s messages. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” the viscount said, rising.

“Godspeed, Danforth.”

Danforth’s brows rose. “At least introduce me.”

“No.” Sebastian set off for his study, his pulse picking up speed with every step. “Go away.”

“Come now, Chief,” Danforth said. “Not even a quick hello?”

Sebastian grasped the study’s door handle. “There would be nothing
quick
about your greeting. Now, off with you.” He opened the door, saw the widow leaning against the far side of his desk, and felt a frisson of warmth settle into his chest.

A low whistle sounded from behind him. Sebastian stepped inside and shut the door in Danforth’s face.

The abrupt noise startled her, and she jumped back. “My lord?”

“Forgive me, a draught caught the door.” She looked even lovelier today than yesterday. Wisps of blond hair curled against her flushed cheeks, and her graceful neck rose above a round neckline that hinted at a full bosom any man would admire.

“Good morning.” She walked over to the edge of his desk and tapped her finger against a sheet of a paper. “Here is the schedule.”

He joined her at the desk, his chest inches from her shoulder while he studied her well-organized itinerary. The moment he caught her delicate fragrance, the page blurred and the room dimmed. Heat raced across his flesh, and his muscles contracted with the strength of his need.

He turned his head a fraction. “Did you sleep well, Mrs. Ashcroft?”

She did not look up from the schedule. “W-well—” she cleared her throat. “Well enough.”

“I did not.” Instead of focusing on his task for Reeves and solving the mystery of Ashcroft’s death, he had created inventive ways to entice the fair widow into his bed. When he had finally managed to fall asleep, he awoke not long after, sweating and aching and cock in hand.

She was dangerous—to his peace of mind and to his mission. And he didn’t bloody well care. For the first time since becoming chief of the Nexus, he would put his own selfish needs before England’s and damn the consequences.

He caressed her cheek, needing the contact and yearning for the connection that could only be had while looking into another’s eyes. She met his gaze then with fathomless brown eyes, soft with budding desire and an enchanting trepidation. The need to possess burned through his veins. He wanted this woman like none other.

“Perhaps tonight, I might enjoy a more pleasurable slumber.”

Her eyes flared wide. She might not have a courtesan’s polish, but she was experienced enough in the ways of men to glean his invitation.

A sharp rap at the door shattered the moment. “Chief, I believe you had something you wanted me to deliver.”

Sebastian cursed beneath his breath and thought of the many ways in which he would make Danforth pay for this intrusion.

“Chief?” she asked.

He waved off the viscount’s careless comment. “Lord Danforth’s humor. Ignore it. Or at least, try.” He bent and placed a kiss where his finger had lingered. “I’ll be back in a moment to take you to breakfast. Make yourself comfortable.”

***

Catherine followed the earl’s determined strides, fighting the violent urge to halt his retreat and beg him to continue with his gentle assault on her senses. She released a low, shuddering breath. Like the day before, his touch awakened stirrings that had lain dormant for years. Years where her blood had moved through her veins with boring efficiency.

But not yesterday and not a few minutes ago. She smoothed her hand over her tight chest, recalling their passionate kiss. Never had she been so consumed by the press of a man’s lips. Had he not pulled away, Catherine was ashamed to think of what might have happened in the library. In the light of day. With her daughter playing just outside.

No, Lord Somerton made her blood sing with life. But why? From the moment she had visited him in London, he had treated her with cool reserve. Where had the warmth come from? The passion? The need?

The earl jerked the study door open, and Catherine saw the attractive visage of a gentleman in his late twenties. He flashed her an appreciative smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ashcroft.” He pushed his way past a scowling Lord Somerton and bowed before her, lifting her hand to his mouth. Then he paused to raise an inquiring brow toward the earl.

Lord Somerton sighed. “Viscount Danforth, may I present Mrs. Ashcroft.”

The gentleman smiled and kissed the back of her fingers. Catherine needed no introduction, though. The few times Lord Danforth had graced Bellamere’s corridors he’d set off a feminine hum of excitement all over Showbury. Although she had only seen him from afar, he was as startlingly handsome as she remembered. With his charm and striking features, he was assured a spot in every young girl’s heart. Even Catherine found herself grinning at his antics. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Danforth.”

He released her hand and glanced around. “What brings you to Somerton’s lair this morning?”

“None of your business.” Lord Somerton indicated the door. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”

Danforth glanced between her and the earl, a devilish look in his eye. “But the company is so much more pleasant here.”