Checkmate, My Lord (17 page)

Frustrated and suddenly, overwhelmingly tired, Catherine rose. “Since our conversation has all but ground to a halt, I am for bed. I find I don’t have the stamina for this kind of verbal swordplay. It’s been a long day.”

When she made to walk around him, he blocked her path. “Please stay.”

“Will you answer my questions?”

“Is it not enough to know the true nature of Ashcroft’s death and that we’re doing everything we can to locate his killer?”

She rubbed her arms. “Believe me, Sebastian, I wish it was enough. I will be quite happy to have this business behind me.”

He laid his palm against her cheek and then kissed her with a sweet reverence that made her eyes prickle. “This won’t allay your current disappointment,” he whispered against her lips, “but I want you to know, all the same.”

During their kiss, she had placed her hand over his chest and could now feel its rhythmic beat against her palm. Too fast, much too fast. “I’m listening.”

“If I could tell you more, I would. I swear it.”

God help her, she believed him. Believed the struggle he couldn’t quite mask behind his carefully controlled appearance. She pressed her lips to his palm but said nothing. Something he said earlier simply didn’t make sense. “You work for the Foreign Office in some capacity?”

The muscles beneath both her hands flexed. “Yes.”

“Then you know whether my husband worked there?”

“I do.”

She arched a brow, waiting.

His chest expanded on a deep breath. “He did.”

Closing her eyes, she said, “How could I not know my husband was a spy?”

He grasped her upper arms and set her away. “Who said he was? John Chambers?”

She shrugged. “It seemed a logical occupation given all that’s happened.” Cochran’s name was on the tip of her tongue, but instinct cautioned her to keep his identity secret for a little while longer.

“Tell me, Sebastian,” she said. “Once you find Jeffrey’s killer, will you then share the full details?”

He stepped away and picked up his wine. “I cannot.”

Her heart plummeted, but she was unsurprised by his answer. She’d held on to the tiniest bit of hope that he would eventually provide her with a sense of resolution. Unfortunately, she was still no closer to understanding his involvement with Jeffrey and this Nexus. For all she knew, everything Cochran had told her was the truth. The earl might have developed an ephemeral
tendre
for her and might wish to convey the circumstances around her husband’s death, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the one responsible. Hopefully, Cochran would come through for her in a way Lord Somerton was determined not to.

“I see.” Because of his bone-chilling honesty, she managed to send him a polite smile. “In that case, I guess there’s nothing left to say but good night.”

His lips thinned. “I will see you in the morning.”

She strode across the room and entered the connecting chamber, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the solid oak panel and tipped her head back, willing the war inside her body to abate.

Part of her wanted to ignore all the warning signs surrounding Sebastian—the danger, the prevarication, the single-mindedness. And another part of her wanted to pack Sophie up and head to the coast for a much-needed holiday. His actions with her daughter, his tenants, and Meghan McCarthy all pointed to a caring and considerate man. Grayson admired him and Mrs. Fox adored him. Lord Danforth had an easy relationship with him, even if a respectful one.

All of this still couldn’t account for the secrets he’d kept or the isolation he’d lived under. He guarded his emotions with a small infantry. Any tiny chink to his defenses was swiftly replaced by another shield.

She pushed away from the door. A sudden sense of loss blackened her already somber mood. His reticence to confide in her had now forced her to act in a way not to her liking. She must now find her own answers. And in doing so, she must violate his trust and her moral principles.

Catherine lowered herself into one of the dainty chairs and waited.

With one hand anchored on his hip and the other clutched around a near-empty glass, Sebastian paused in the midst of the sunken garden. Where was that blasted bench?

He squinted into the darkness, twisting this way, then that way. No bench. He took another lurching step, his powerful frame listing decidedly to the left.
If
only
this
bloody
garden
would
stop
moving.

The widow was to blame for his current predicament. Had she not harangued him with question after question, he was certain they would be more agreeably engaged. In his bed. Naked and sweaty.

Not in a garden cracking his shins on every earthenware container he owned.

He tipped back the rest of his brandy, and this time the amber liquid slid down his throat like liquid silk. His gaze settled on the second floor, on the long balcony framing two sets of double doors. To the right, the countess’s bedchamber sat in forbidding darkness, its occupant fast asleep, making Sebastian’s situation all the more laughable.

For nearly two hours, he had tried to find surcease from the image of the McCarthy girl lying in a vat of mud, her mouth agape and her eyes deadened.

He had seen death many times and in various forms. Men, women, sick, poor, elderly, young—no one was immune, all could be sacrificed. Children were the worst. Their innocence made them easy targets, their defenses laughable to predators.

Children were the worst.

Sebastian lifted his glass for another healthy swallow, only to be met with a single drop. He eased his arm back down, the empty glass dangling from his fingertips. Unbidden, his gaze rose to the countess’s chamber again. How he wished he could have confided in her. His jaw actually hurt from the strain of keeping his tongue behind his teeth.

One detailed explanation would have been enough to set her mind at ease until the Nexus located Ashcroft’s killer. One detailed explanation would have removed the wariness from her brown eyes and kept her in his bed. One explanation would have exposed an organization whose success depended entirely upon its anonymity.

He rubbed his aching temples, hating his role as chief of the Nexus in a way he never had before. He started to lift his glass again and remembered it was empty. Time for a refill.

Shuffling his feet, he made his way up the four steps that led down to his favorite section of the garden. Once there, he could see well enough that he didn’t have to walk like an old man anymore, although his balance continued to favor one side of his body.

He entered through his study door, banging his shoulder into the frame. Someone cursed at the opposite end of the room. Sebastian dropped into a crouch, away from the open door.

His rapid change in position made his head spin, and he took precious seconds to shake off his alcohol-induced fog. Once he regained a modicum of clarity, he peered hard into the gloom, searching for shifting shadows and subtle sprays of light. But all remained eerily still. Too still. The air became rife with the intruder’s fear.

Setting his glass down, Sebastian removed the long blade from a hidden sleeve inside his right boot. With more determination than finesse, he slid from one piece of furniture to the next, closing in on the intruder’s location.

Or at least, where he hoped the intruder was hiding. With nothing more than a sliver of moon riding high in the sky, he was operating on instinct alone. And his inner guide led him to the darkened corner behind his desk.

Keeping to the shadows, Sebastian peered around his desk and listened for the distinctive sounds of life—shuffling feet, shuddering breaths, shaking furniture—while searching the darkness for movement. Nothing. He mentally retraced his steps to the moment he entered the study.

Had he really heard a harsh exclamation? Or was it perhaps his own noisy entrance that he mistook for another? When the possibility gathered merit in his mind, a flush heated his already dampened skin. He straightened from his concealed position, disgusted by his overreaction.

And that’s when he caught a familiar scent. A scent that, only a few hours ago, had drenched his senses and made him yearn for a life not his own. A scent that was hers, and hers alone.

Catherine.

Lowering his blade, he sheathed the weapon and moved toward the gloom-filled corner. What had brought her to his study so late at night? Could she not banish the day’s events, same as he, and sought solace elsewhere? His heart slammed against the wall of his chest when he considered another more pleasant reason for coming here. Had she been looking for him? If so, why did she remain quiet?

Then he realized she might not have known it was him. He had stumbled into the room from the outside and then immediately ducked out of sight. Maybe she thought
he
was the intruder.

Stopping a few feet away, he heard her faint rasping breaths. “Care to tell me why you’re lurking in the shadows, my dear?”

A cudgel sliced through the space between them, connecting with the side of Sebastian’s knee. He went down on all fours and had only enough time to raise his forearm to protect his head. But his assailant wasn’t interested in bashing his skull.

The cudgel rammed into his lower back. Pain, sharp and debilitating, shot up his spine, arching his vertebrae and throwing him off-balance. He crashed to the floor, incapacitated.

His assailant shuffled closer but was careful to stay out of reach. A low, raspy voice said, “Why, I’m waiting for you, my lord.”

Sebastian tried to scramble away, tried to get to his knife. But exhaustion, alcohol, and excruciating pain made him clumsy and slow. A boot slammed into his head, and Sebastian’s face crashed into the rough carpet. His last thought before the night claimed him was of her.
Catherine
. Or, more specifically, her scent.

***

August 14

Sebastian woke to low murmurings behind him.

“Is he alive, Grayson?”

“I believe so, my lord,” his butler said. “The doctor is on his way. I dared not move him with such a head injury.”

Sebastian recognized the other man as his former ward. He tried to push himself upright, but his arm would not move and his leg hurt like bloody hell. Then he recalled the brutal attack, and his jaw clenched, unable to believe he’d been caught so unawares.

“Wise decision,” Danforth said. “Any idea who did this?”

“None, sir.”

“Have you noticed any unusual activity in the area?”

“We did have a peculiar event occur yesterday,” Grayson said. “A local girl was killed. Lord Somerton and Mrs. Ashcroft found her in the woodland not far from here.”

“How did she die?”

“Strangulation,” Grayson said. “The poor thing was also
enceinte
.”

Opening his eyes, Sebastian saw nothing save the bottom of his bookshelf. The more conscious he became, the more aware of his body he became. His right arm was trapped beneath his weight and his neck ached from its twisted position.

“Looks like he’s waking, sir.”

“Chief.” Danforth shook his shoulder. “Can you hear me? Can you get up?”

Sebastian winced at the sudden jarring of his arm. “Yes and no,” he croaked. “My arm.”

The viscount eased him onto his back, taking care of Sebastian’s useless arm. Blood rushed into his fingertips, releasing angry needles of retribution into his flesh. He flexed his hand, the action clunky and awkward, until feeling returned. He nodded his thanks.

“Grayson, can you fetch his lordship some water?”

Said water materialized in front of Danforth’s face. He accepted the butler’s offering with a wry look. “Thank you, old chap.” To Sebastian, he said, “I’m going to lift your head a little so you can drink. If I hurt you, grunt or something.”

The cool liquid soothed his parched throat, and Sebastian drank until Danforth forced him to pause for breath. His mouth must have been a big, open, yawning hole while he was unconscious. Not a pleasant image.

“Is everyone else unharmed?” he asked, his thoughts going to Catherine.

“Indeed, sir,” Grayson said.

Sebastian tried to sit up, but a sharp pain sliced through his lower back.

“Careful,” Danforth warned. “You have a nasty bump on the head.”

“Your hand,” Sebastian said, ignoring the viscount’s warning. Once he was upright, he probed the gash above his temple. Nasty, indeed. “What time is it?”

Danforth checked his timepiece. “A little past eight.”

Combing his fingers through his hair, Sebastian asked, “Where’s Mrs. Ashcroft?”

“She left about an hour ago, my lord,” Grayson said. “She mentioned she knocked on your door to relay her plans for the day. When you did not answer, she thought you were overtired from the previous day’s events and insisted I leave you be. Your valet reported you missing not long ago.”

Danforth whistled low. “You have packed a good deal of activity in the last twenty-four hours. Did you see who assaulted you?”

“No,” he said. “The study was dark, the attack swift.” Outside of his assailant’s raspy voice, all Sebastian recalled was Catherine’s distinctive scent. A pure feminine fragrance he would recognize anywhere. Even inebriated. Had she been meeting with his attacker, or had she been in his study minutes before? If so, why?

Setting aside the disturbing questions, he asked, “When did you arrive?”

“Only just.” Danforth handed him the rest of the water. In a level voice, he said, “I have news.”

The doctor picked that moment to arrive, and Sebastian spent the next hour enduring his less-than-gentle examination. After the doctor left and the drapes were drawn, Sebastian lowered himself into the chair behind his desk and tried to pretend his head was not splitting in two. “What do you have to report?”

“Helsford’s informant made mention of a conversation between two gentlemen yesterday in St. Giles.” Danforth poured them both a drink before lowering himself into a chair. “Although both wore disguises, they could not completely ‘shuck off the stench of quality,’ or so his informant said.”

“The rookeries are bulging at the seams, but they’re still a close-knit community and would be wary of strangers.” Sebastian pressed a hand against his throbbing thigh. “I take it the meeting had some significance to our present situation.”

“The informant believes Lord Latymer was one of the gentlemen,” Danforth said. “He had the same unusual height, lean build, and straight black hair as the under-superintendent.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened at the mention of his former friend and superior at the Alien Office. Latymer had plotted with the French to kill him in order to cripple the Nexus in a desperate attempt to protect Napoleon. He still did not understand why Latymer would turn his back on his countrymen and on such a promising career within the Foreign Office.

“Do we have his location?”

“No,” Danforth said. “He put his training to good use and lost his tail within ten minutes.”

“And the other gentleman?”

“Identity unknown. We have only a description—English, blond, and a peculiar tendency toward violence. If not for Helsford’s informant, the barmaid he took a liking to would no doubt be dead now, or wishing for death.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, sending an arrow of pain through his skull. Men who preyed upon those weaker than they sank below the level of vermin in his estimation. They were nothing more than scavengers, afraid of their own shadow, though always trying to convince the world they were gods.

“Did the informant hear anything of note?”

The viscount’s gaze slid toward the door, his look pensive. When he turned back, he asked, “What do you know of your pretty neighbor?”

Dread slammed into Sebastian’s chest. “Little, besides the fact that she was Ashcroft’s wife and has a six-year-old daughter.”
And
she
frees
my
soul
with
a
single
touch
of
her
lips.

“The men spoke in low tones, so the informant was unable to glean the entire conversation,” Danforth said. “However, the gentlemen spoke of ‘the widow’ several times and there appeared to be a sense of urgency in their conversation.”

“Do you know how many widows there are in England?” Sebastian couldn’t keep the derision from his tone. The pressure inside his skull increased with each passing second, making it hard for him to concentrate and even harder to curb his impatience.

“Quite a few, I imagine,” Danforth said, unperturbed. “But not so many associated with you.”

“My name was mentioned?”

Danforth nodded, cocking his head to the side. “This is the second time Helsford’s informant has come to your rescue. Anything I should know?”

At a critical moment during their last mission, Sebastian had received an anonymous note of caution. If he hadn’t received the warning at the precise moment he had, Sebastian would have made a terrible mistake.

“Your question is better put to Helsford,” Sebastian said. “I have no notion as to who the informant is or why the individual would want to help me.” He considered his next words carefully. “But I am starting to question Superintendent Reeves’s sudden interest in our agents and his decision to banish me to the country.”

“You think Reeves is in league with Latymer?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Coincidences do occur, but I can’t ignore the logic linking the two men together.”

“Might explain some of what Helsford deciphered from Ashcroft’s letters.”

“How so?”

“Ashcroft spoke of his suspicions about a double spy in the superintendent’s office,” Danforth said. “In the last letter of the second packet you delivered, Ashcroft believed he had isolated the traitor and that the man was a liaison to Latymer.”

“Did he provide a name?”

“Not in the letters we have.”

Sebastian eyed the viscount. “You think there are more?”

“Possibly,” Danforth said. “Or the traitors learned what Ashcroft was up to and killed him before he had the chance to identify the double spy in a final letter.”