Through the Smoke (29 page)

“Do it,” she urged as her hands gripped his buttocks. “Now.”

He answered with a groan of frustration. “I can’t.” The words sounded harsh in her ear but she understood the purity of the intent behind them. “I will not let you take such a risk, not when I can’t give you more than… than this.”

Knowing what it cost him to make such a sacrifice, she clung to him until the intensity of the moment subsided. Then she thought she should leave. She guessed it might make his recovery easier. But every time she tried to get up, he pulled her back into the warmth of his bed and his embrace and told her not to go quite yet.

“You’ll only drive yourself mad,” she told him, but eventually the tension in his body eased, and he fell so deeply asleep she didn’t want to move for fear she would disturb him.

She could have nodded off too. She’d been up most of the night. But she didn’t want to waste one second of their time together. Knowing she might never have this opportunity again, she was far happier watching him sleep.

She must’ve succumbed to exhaustion at some point, however, because the next thing she knew it was morning, and the sun seemed especially bright. When she felt the earl stir, she couldn’t help wondering how he was going to react to what they’d done—and what they hadn’t done. But she never got the chance to find out. Someone startled them both by banging on the door.

“My lord, Mr. Linley asked me to bring you word that he has fetched Mr. Tyndale from the mine, as you required. They are in the parlor.”

Cringing at the sound of the housekeeper’s voice, Rachel dared not move for fear she’d give her presence away.

The earl seemed far less fearful, of course. He rubbed his face and yawned before opening his eyes. “Thank you for alerting me,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”

When Mrs. Poulson’s steps faded, Rachel hopped out of bed. “I’m sorry. I-I fell asleep.”

He watched her pull on her nightdress and head to her own room.

“You will sleep in my bed from now on,” he told her before she could reach the door.

She gaped at him. “Don’t you think that will be… tempting fate?”

His gaze felt like a caress when it fell to her breasts, and that caused a corresponding tingle.

“I will have as much of you as I can—while I can,” he said simply.

Her body grew warm, as if he were already touching her. “Yes, my lord.”

“And if I choose to give you gifts, to… do what I can, you will take what I offer, regardless of the cost.”

She felt her face heat as he got up, completely naked, in front of her. A respectable woman would glance away, but she’d grown brazen overnight. Remembering every kiss, every touch, she made no effort to hide the admiration or the longing that had brought her to his bed in the first place. “Don’t bother giving me expensive baubles, my lord. You are the only thing that matters to me,” she told him and fled.

After being singularly devoted to finding Katherine’s killer for the past two years, unable to think of anything else, Truman couldn’t concentrate on his conversation with Mr. Tyndale. Maybe he’d been dealing with the mystery for too long, had begun to despair of
ever
finding the answers he sought, but his heart wasn’t into yet another interview, even after what Rachel had told him about Wythe and Cutberth acting “secretive.” That could be nothing, so what would he find that he hadn’t found already? He’d followed up on so many false leads—and this one didn’t seem to hold much promise. Maybe Cutberth had played him false by trying to start a union behind his back, but that didn’t make him a thief. If he’d sold the Bruegel paintings, where was the money? Why was he still working at the mine?

Linley, sensing his distraction and probably attributing it to his having just got out of bed, took the lead, which allowed Truman to stand off to one side and gaze out the window as his mind wandered back to what had so recently transpired in his bedroom.

I love you. I think I’ve loved you since that day in the shop
.

He’d made a mistake allowing Rachel into his bed last night. After what she’d been through, of course she felt like she loved him. He was the only stable thing in her world right now. He should never have given those emotions a physical aspect, should never have taken advantage of her innocence.

But she created such hunger in him. Even now, he felt a certain amount of frustration that he hadn’t been able to completely possess her since that one brief encounter—when her virginity had come as such a shock. He couldn’t give her up too soon,
wouldn’t
give her up.

“I-I haven’t noticed anything strange, Mr. Linley,” Tyndale said. “Mr. Wythe seems quite satisfied with Mr. Cutberth’s work.”

Mention of his cousin finally drew Truman’s attention to the conversation, especially when Linley, looking somewhat ill at ease, cleared his throat. “I’m not asking how Mr. Stanhope feels about Mr. Cutberth,” Linley explained. “I’m asking what
you
think.”

“
Me?
But I’m just the Fore-Overman. Surely the steward would be better able to assess Mr. Cutberth’s performance, given he deals with him on a more regular basis.”

“You work out of the same office, do you not?” Linley asked.

He twisted his hat in his lap. “Yes, sir.”

“I would say you have had more than enough opportunity to observe how he behaves, who he talks to, when he comes and goes.”

“Indeed, but…” Tyndale’s words dwindled off as he glanced toward the door.

Giving up his vigil at the window, Truman turned and stepped closer to him. “Is something wrong, Mr. Tyndale?”

“No! No, of course not.”

“I assure you that we are quite alone. As you know, Wythe is now living with you.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see Mr. Stanhope.”

“Who then? You seem concerned that you might be overheard.”

He adjusted his waistcoat. “Not really, sir. I just… I wondered if Mrs. Poulson was about. That’s all.”

“My housekeeper.”

“Yes. She visits us quite regularly, you know.”

“I see. And she carries tales of what’s going on at Blackmoor Hall, does she?”

When he didn’t answer, Truman knew it was true. He should’ve been able to guess she would. Mrs. Poulson had always been devoted to Wythe, had been supremely unhappy when he’d had Wythe move to Cosgrove House.

It made Truman uneasy to have such a high-level servant so devoutly loyal to someone else. He would like to be able to rely on his own staff. But Wythe
had
saved his life. Truman couldn’t be thankless enough to sack Poulson.

Mr. Tyndale lowered his voice. “They seem to be…
close
.”

“Indeed.” Truman gestured toward the door. “Mr. Linley, would you please find Mrs. Poulson and keep her occupied while I have a word with Mr. Tyndale?”

“Certainly.” Linley nodded to the Fore-Overman before he left.

“Now you can rest assured,” Truman said once the door was closed. “Tell me, has my housekeeper done something to upset you?”

“No.”

“Mr. Tyndale?”

“She has a sharp tongue, my lord.”

It was easy to tell the Fore-Overman didn’t appreciate being in his current position. “Meaning?”

“She has quite a bit to say about Miss McTavish.”

“And you find that… offensive?”

“I’ve always had a soft spot for Rachel,” he admitted. “I knew her father, of course. He was rough around the edges. I’ll give you that. But he wasn’t always so bad, not before life got the best of him. In the end I felt sorry for him. And I feel even sorrier for his daughter. The poor girl has had a hard life.”

That was a lot of words for a man like Tyndale. “Yet you assigned her to Number 14 Stall when she applied to you for work.”

“Mr. Stanhope may have indicated that was my doing, but it wasn’t. I would never have put her in the mine with the men.”

“Did you try to persuade my cousin to do otherwise?”

He sat up taller. “Indeed I did. I don’t want to risk my job by saying anything… unflattering about Mr. Stanhope, but the truth is the truth.”

“Nothing you say here will risk your job, Mr. Tyndale. I commend you for trying to protect Miss McTavish.”

“Thank you, my lord.” He seemed slightly mollified. “As I have indicated, I care about the girl. I can’t help but take exception to what Mrs. Poulson has to say about her.”

“But Mrs. Poulson is no real threat to Rachel.”

“Make no mistake, she wants her gone and plans to throw her out as soon as… as soon as…” He couldn’t quite spit out the rest.

“I tire of her?”

He flushed. “Those were her words, yes. But no matter what folks think of Miss McTavish, what
you
may think of her, I can’t hold her accountable for the decisions she’s made since her mum died. When it comes to taking care of Geordie, she’d do anything. I-I saw that firsthand when she came to my office to sue for work.”

Truman liked Tyndale, respected him. “Don’t worry about Miss McTavish. I will take care of her.”

He sniffed, obviously surprised by the commitment. “Thank you. Truly. I am grateful for any help you can give her.”

“Back to Cutberth, then.”

From what Truman could tell, Tyndale didn’t completely relax, but he came off a little more confident.

“Has he been derelict in his duty, my lord?”

“Not quite in the way you might think. I’ve heard he’s trying to start up a union. Is that true?”

Tyndale seemed shocked. “I couldn’t say, my lord. But other than you, and Mr. Stanhope, I fear I would be the last person he’d include in such plans.”

“So all seems as it’s always been at the colliery?”

“At the colliery, yes. But”—he paused before continuing—“there have been some surprising developments in Mr. Cutberth’s personal life.”

“What kind of developments?”

Again Tyndale jerked on the bottom of his waistcoat. He was attempting to straighten it, but he was too overweight to make it lie flat. “You haven’t heard?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mrs. Cutberth came to the office last week, almost in hysterics. She had a pack of letters she claimed she found hidden amongst his belongings.”

“And what did those letters signify?”

“They must’ve been love letters of some sort because she accused him of… of being unfaithful.”

While he couldn’t admire a man who would betray his wife, Truman hardly felt as though he was in a position to judge, given that he was currently embroiled in a less-than-ideal situation himself. But he had never broken his marriage vows. At least he could say that. “Something gossipmongers would find interesting,” he said. “But what does Mr. Cutberth’s personal life have to do with me?”

Mr. Tyndale clasped his hands together. “That’s where it gets interesting, my lord. I couldn’t help hearing the name she screamed at him.”

“What name was that?”

“Jillian McTavish.”

Truman took the seat closest to his Fore-Overman. “You can’t mean
Rachel’s
mother.”

“That’s exactly who I mean.”

Jillian had always been pretty—almost as pretty as her daughter. Many had marveled that she’d wound up with Jack. Someone like Cutberth would’ve been a much better fit, except for the age difference. “She must’ve been eight or ten years older than Cutberth,” Truman said.

The Fore-Overman sighed. “Apparently that did not deter them.”

While he sat at dinner with Rachel, Truman wrestled with whether or not to tell her what Tyndale had shared about her mother. It was only hearsay, after all. Maybe he should keep his mouth shut and pray she never learned of it. She deserved to take her good memories of her mother with her to London, didn’t she?

On the other hand, this could explain the extra income she’d noticed. Maybe Cutberth had been using Rachel’s mother to convince Jack to set the fire, and she wound up blackmailing him when the affair ended. Or it was possible he’d really loved her and had been giving her money to help.

“You’re quiet this evening, my lord.” Rachel paused, fork in hand, to look up at him.

She was on his left. He’d had the dressmaker send another gown, this one burgundy and made from Rachel’s own measurements. It had arrived this afternoon and looked even more attractive on her than the one he’d allowed her to take from Katherine’s wardrobe.