Checkmate, My Lord (14 page)

Sebastian opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a staying hand.

“After my husband turned his back on us, the residents of Showbury blamed me for Jeffrey’s absence.” She swallowed hard. “I constantly battled greedy shopkeepers, disapproving matrons, and small-minded men. If the vicar had not stepped in and befriended me, I’m not sure what I would have done.”

The tension thrumming through his body drained away.

“I owe much to Mr. Foster,” she said, “and will happily accept any of his requests for assistance. Now, if you will excuse me, my lord.” She gathered her things, and Sebastian watched it all through a narrow, slightly blurry lens. He felt like a fool, and offering his apology seemed inadequate.

He had no sooner finished the thought when he found himself standing before her, aching to pull her into his arms and kiss away the angry lines scouring her forehead.

Instead, in the softest voice he could manage, he asked, “Will I see you tomorrow?”

She glanced away as if to give the question considerable thought. Sebastian held his breath, afraid to make the slightest move.

“Might you behave yourself?”

“It is my dearest wish to do so.”

Pounding feet sounded down the corridor. Within seconds, his butler knocked on the door before sticking his harassed face through the opening. “My lord,” Grayson panted. “Mr. Foster to see you.”

The vicar squeezed by Grayson. “I’m sorry for barging in, my lord. Mrs. Ashcroft. But I’ve received some unsettling news about Meghan McCarthy.”

Catherine rushed forward and placed her hand on the vicar’s sleeve. Sebastian’s hands curled at his sides.

“What’s happened, sir? Please don’t tell me something is wrong with the baby.”

“No, ma’am,” he said. “Well, yes. I mean—”

She grasped his hand in both of hers. “Take a deep breath, Mr. Foster.”

He sent her a sad smile. “You’re always so strong.” He pulled in a long breath. “Yes, something is wrong. Very wrong. Meghan McCarthy’s gone missing.”

***

After sending word to her mother at Winter’s Hollow, Catherine and Lord Somerton accompanied the vicar to the McCarthys to help search for the missing girl. According to Mr. Foster, Meghan McCarthy went for a walk with a friend after their meeting with her on Saturday and she never returned home. Figuring their daughter had decided to stay the night at her friend’s house, something she often did, the family did not begin to worry until she failed to return home the following afternoon.

When they entered the McCarthy cottage, Catherine noted Meghan’s younger sister and brother huddled in a corner, watching their father shove items into a satchel. Both Declan and his wife looked as though they hadn’t slept in days, and Mrs. McCarthy’s eyes were red-rimmed and sunken with grief.

“What is the latest, Declan?” the vicar asked.

“Still no sign,” the carpenter said. “We’ve pounded on every door and traveled down every lane. Sally Porter said she parted ways with my Meghan near the woods about a mile from here. I’ll search the woodland and then the waterfall she liked to visit.”

Somerton asked, “Do you think she left with the baby’s father?”

Mrs. McCarthy shook her head. “My daughter’s refusal to provide the man’s name was not because she wanted to protect him, but rather to protect her and the babe.”

Catherine recalled her suspicions about Meghan’s reticence. “She was afraid of the father?”

Mrs. McCarthy shared a look with her husband. “We believed so, although the stubborn girl would not admit it.”

When everyone fell silent, Lord Somerton asked, “Is no one else assisting with the search?”

McCarthy’s features hardened. “No.”

The earl didn’t react, but Catherine sensed his anger. Her own temper and disappointment bubbled to the surface. “No one?”

“The people around here have never welcomed us.” Mrs. McCarthy blotted her nose. “If not for your assistance, ma’am, we would have left months ago.”

“I did little more than nudge a few customers in your husband’s direction,” Catherine said. “Mr. McCarthy’s work speaks for itself.”

“The vicar and I will help search the woodlands.” Lord Somerton’s pronouncement held an age-old ring of authority that the other two men responded to without question.

“Thank you, m’lord,” McCarthy said. “I welcome the extra eyes.”

Mr. Foster nodded. “I’m ready.”

“As am I,” Catherine said.

Lord Somerton turned to her, his gaze assessing. “Your skills would be better employed elsewhere, madam.”

Her spine stiffened. “Do not think to exclude me. Meghan is my friend, and I will not leave until she is found.”

“I thought as much,” he said.

“Then define ‘elsewhere,’ if you please.”

“Are you up for a few social calls?”

Her brows drew together, not understanding.

“We need more people to assist with the search.”

His meaning became clear, and Catherine felt like a fool for her reaction. The one thing she had mastered over the years was the fine art of prodding people to do what they would not otherwise do if left to their own devices. “Of course.” To the vicar, she asked, “May I borrow your gig, sir?”

“By all means, Mrs. Ashcroft.”

“What of me, m’lord?” Mrs. McCarthy asked. “How can I help?”

Somerton laid his hand on her shoulder. “Let us prepare for the worst, ma’am. Do you have clean linens you can tear into strips?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Have several ready along with hot water and whatever medical supplies you have. Also, keep an eye out for any recruits Mrs. Ashcroft sends our way. Let them know where to find us. Can you manage it all?”

“Yes, m’lord,” she said. “I prefer to stay busy.”

“Very well.” He pointed at Declan’s bag. “Do you have any weapons stashed in there?”

The carpenter hesitated a moment, his lips firming into a grim line. “Yes.”

“Good,” the earl said. “Shall we go?”

Declan glanced at the vicar, who smiled.

They left the McCarthys’ cottage en masse. Catherine made her way to the vicar’s gig, while the men set off for the wooded area. When she prepared to climb into the conveyance, Lord Somerton’s hand materialized in front of her.

Startled, she glanced at him, accepting his assistance. “Did you need something, my lord?”

“See if you can locate a cart.” He unraveled his cravat and shrugged out of his coat. “And do something with these, if you will.”

Without thought, she draped his garments over her lap as if she’d performed the same act a hundred times before. The mindless deed gave her a brief opportunity to admire the bit of flesh revealed by his open neckline—until his words sank in. “A cart? Do you think Meghan’s injured?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “As I mentioned to Mrs. McCarthy, it is best to prepare for the worst.”

“Be careful,” she said.

His attention dropped to her mouth, brushed it softly with a single sweep of his gaze before lifting again.

The visual kiss had nearly the same impact as the stunning press of his lips. Catherine’s stomach clenched around a surge of longing so powerful she came close to reaching for him.

He stepped back. Had he sensed her temptation? Had he shared it?

“Coerce as many as you can to come, Mrs. Ashcroft. Promise them whatever you must.”

The gravity of his tone told her he was more concerned with Meghan’s welfare than he cared to share.

A fresh wave of anger washed over her. How could Showbury’s residents turn their backs on the McCarthys at a time like this? To do so was simply unthinkable.

She would enjoy this opportunity to remind her neighbors of the many times Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy had set aside their own duties to harvest a crop or protect a home from high waters. She narrowed her eyes on the lane ahead. Yes, indeed.

“Promises will not be necessary, my lord.” She flicked the reins. “Be prepared for my return.”

Two hours later, Catherine led a large group of chagrined neighbors to the small meadow near the woods. Not long after their arrival, Lord Somerton emerged from the treeline, looking disheveled but no less determined.

Mr. Baggert helped her from the gig, and Catherine rushed to greet the earl.

He glanced over her shoulder, appreciation lighting his blue-gray eyes. “You did well.”

“Some had already come to their senses and were making their way here,” she said with unexpected shyness. “Others came around with a few not so subtle reminders. No sign of Meghan yet?”

He shook his head. “We’ve combed the wooded area as best we can with the three of us. I’ll have your troops sweep through again, while McCarthy, Foster, you, and I search the streambed that leads to her waterfall.”

McCarthy and the vicar joined them, and the earl explained his plan. The carpenter nodded his understanding, but his gaze was on the assembly behind Catherine.

“They want to help,” Catherine said.

“Why now?”

“I think they had time to consider what they would do if their circumstances were reversed.”

Lord Somerton placed his hand on McCarthy’s shoulder. “Allow me to set up a search line and provide the group with some instructions and then we can set upon the stream.”

Catherine could tell the carpenter wanted nothing more than to continue his sweep of the area. But in a short period of time, the earl had won McCarthy’s respect to the point of deferral.

“Your wife said you have not eaten anything since yesterday,” Catherine said. “She sent a small basket of foodstuff along, as did many of the women from the village.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “But I’m not hungry.”

“You soon will be and probably at a most inconvenient time.” She motioned him toward the gig. “Eat, please. Keep up your strength until we find Meghan. You, too, Mr. Foster.”

“Did the ladies by chance send refreshment?” Mr. Foster asked.

“Yes,” she said. “We have water and ale in the back.”

The carpenter pulled a sandwich from an overflowing basket. “I should never have let her out of my sight. She was always so trusting of strangers.”

“Meghan’s disappearance was not your fault, Declan,” the vicar said. “You cannot always know another’s mind, no matter how much you love them.”

“Ready?” The earl strode toward them and did not stop. He simply wrapped his long fingers around her elbow and pulled her gently, yet firmly, along. “Mrs. Ashcroft and I will head north a quarter mile and work our way down. You two gentlemen head upstream from the south. We will meet in the middle, or until we find Meghan. Agreed?

“Yes, my lord,” came their reply.

“Good luck, gentlemen.”

They walked in tense silence until the men were out of earshot.

“You think something has happened to Meghan, don’t you?” she asked.

“I cannot be sure.”

“What do your instincts tell you?”

“That this day is going to end badly.”

Catherine bit her lip, trapping the grief welling up in the back of her throat. “Who would want to harm such a sweet girl?”

“Bad people do bad things,” he said. “Sometimes for personal gratification, other times out of fear.”

She sent him a sideways glance. “You sound as if you know firsthand, my lord.”

“I do.”

“Did my husband also know?”

His fingers tightened around her arm. “Yes.”

“You won’t share his travails with me?”

He released her arm to grasp her hand, guiding her through a thicket of shrubbery. “Start scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Discarded clothing, a disturbed area… anything.”

His mention of discarded clothing had the desired effect, for Catherine’s line of thought quickly reverted back to Meghan. They traipsed through the thicket for several more minutes until the underbrush gave way to a twenty-foot bluff overlooking a stream.

Under different circumstances, she would have stopped to enjoy the gently rolling hill, the fluttering leaves, and the twittering birds. But the earl paused only long enough to determine the best path downward. Every unsteady step they made toward the stream increased her trepidation, her certainty that they would find Meghan in an unwelcome situation.

She shrugged off the vile images. Meghan was alive. This business with the unnamed father had everyone suspicious and on edge. Perhaps the girl ran away with her lover, knowing her parents wouldn’t approve of the match.

Then again, Meghan could have taken a nasty tumble and now she lay injured somewhere, awaiting rescue. So many possibilities. So many unknowns. She glanced around. So much ground to cover.

“Hold on.” The earl did his best to keep their descent steady and sure, but the steepness and decaying leaf litter made it impossible. Every few steps, her foothold would give way and she would slide several inches until he steadied her again. Three-quarters of the way down, they gave up the fight and barreled down the hill.

The moment they hit firm, even ground, he turned south. “We will stay to this side. The stream is wide enough and deep enough here that it’s unlikely the girl crossed over.” He scanned in front of them. “Are you able to keep to within five feet of the water without my assistance? I would like to increase our efforts by moving up the hill a bit.”

Because she had walked to the earl’s, rather than take Gypsy, she had her sturdy boots on. “I’ll manage quite well.”

He rested his hand on her cheek. “You’re being very brave, Catherine.”

She nodded, unable to speak. His unexpected gentleness and praise threw her off balance. “Thank you for not insisting I keep Mrs. McCarthy company.”

He cradled her other cheek, studying every nuance of her face. Before her eyes, his features grew stormy, almost savage in their intensity. “Be careful,” he said in a rough whisper.

Then he kissed her. Not a quick, hard, possessive kiss. But a hot, I’m-fighting-against-my-natural-instincts kiss. The pads of her fingers had barely grazed his back when he pulled away, almost as if he feared her touch.

“Remember,” he said, “do not discount anything you see, no matter how small.”

“I won’t.”

They continued in a southerly direction, often in concentrated silence and sometimes stopping to investigate. As they closed in on the small waterfall, Catherine couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed. She mentioned as much to the earl as they picked their way along a rocky edge that led down to a small pool of water.