“Jeffrey was a regrettable consequence?”
Sebastian nodded. “And I suspect Meghan McCarthy was as well.”
Her gaze became more intent, her voice little more than a whisper. “A-are you a traitor, Sebastian?”
Given the lengths he had gone to and the plans he had diverted to protect his country from a war-mongering upstart, her question was almost laughable, if it weren’t so damn painful.
“Is that what your friend told you?”
“He’s not my friend.”
“Then tell me his name.” He recognized the stubborn set to her features before she ever said a word.
“I will,” she said, “as soon as you answer my question.”
“No.”
She blinked. “Are you refusing to answer, or was that your answer?”
Sebastian felt his lips twitch, despite the seriousness of the situation. “No, I’m not a traitor. Your turn.”
Her relief was evident. Her features softened and the tautness of her body loosened.
“Frederick Cochran.”
He nodded, expecting as much. However, the name he wanted to hear from her lips was Latymer. “Tell me,” Sebastian said. “Are Cochran and John Chambers one and the same?”
She winced, averting her gaze. “Yes.”
“Why the subterfuge?”
“I honestly don’t know.” She met his gaze. “Everything was happening so fast. I found myself in the midst of something terrible that I didn’t fully comprehend, and I acted on instinct.”
“Because you didn’t trust me.”
“I didn’t trust anyone at that point.”
He skimmed the backs of his fingers down her upper arm. “Do you trust me now?”
“How do I know you’re not lying to me like Mr. Cochran?”
“You don’t.” Sebastian beat back his frustration. “In this, all I can offer you is my word and a reminder. Ashcroft was my friend. He trusted me.” Thinking back to Cochran’s threat, he asked, “Have I ever threatened you? Made you or Sophie feel unsafe?”
“No. Never.” She swiped the tears from her face. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. It’s all just… too much.”
He cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. The simple action made him feel powerful in a way he never had before. More powerful than when he had obstructed an attempt on the Prime Minister’s life and when he had saved a Russian princess from Napoleon’s grasp.
“Trust me, Cat.”
Fresh tears welled in her beautiful brown eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.
His chest swelled and his gaze dropped to her mouth. He wanted to lap the words from her lips, know the taste of her belief. Instead, he focused on pulling every bit of information from her, because he had promised Sophie he wouldn’t tell her mama.
“Thank you,” he said. “Can you tell me if Cochran is working alone?”
“I thought so until Tuesday,” she said. “Cochran brought a woman to act as Sophie’s governess, and the frightening man we saw outside church on Sunday has become my shadow.”
Sebastian remembered the skeletal creature. Sophie’s scary man, no doubt.
“No one else?”
“No.”
If Latymer was involved in this scheme, he was keeping to the background, allowing Cochran to take the lead on this mission. Such an elaborate ruse, for what? Latymer’s goal didn’t appear to be Sebastian’s death this time around. At least, not yet. What would make Latymer go to such lengths? What did Latymer value so much that he would turn his back on everything he believed in?
“At least not that I recall,” Catherine clarified. “With Cochran threatening to jab a hot poker into my daughter’s eye if I didn’t cooperate, I’m afraid my focus was somewhat narrowed.”
“Bloody bastard.” He saw the scene as clearly as if he were in the room. A precocious girl’s smile transforming into a mask of terror. And then he saw Catherine—helpless, frightened, desperate to save her child. Desperate enough to betray her neighbor, whom Cochran accused of seditious behavior and murder. “They will come to regret that act of violence, Catherine. You have my word.”
She drew in a deep, audible breath and lifted her head. “Perhaps now would be a good time to divulge the full extent of your relationship with Jeffrey.”
Sebastian curled his fingers around her warmth on his palm and lowered his arm. Thanks to Cochran, she already knew more than was good for her about the Nexus. Which meant he would not be breaking any confidences or endangering anyone’s life.
The notion lifted an unbearable weight from his shoulders. Protecting his agents had always been a burden he had gladly carried and wholeheartedly accepted. But withholding the truth from Catherine had placed a far greater strain on his forbearance than he had realized.
“Perhaps you are right.” His gaze fell on the small corner table crowded with crystal filled with an assortment of amber liquid. “Care for a drink?”
“Would love one, thank you.”
Sebastian poured two fingers. “Give it a try. Its numbing properties can be quite beneficial.”
“You’re not having any?”
He rested his forearms on the back of the opposite chair. “No.”
She accepted his offering, gave it a delicate sniff before upending the glass.
“Catherine, I didn’t mean—”
Her eyes widened and her nose turned a raspberry red, but she made it through the fiery drink with nothing more than a delicate cough. She handed her empty glass back to him. “Quite bracing.”
“Indeed.” He cocked his head to the side to assess the damage. “Another?”
She shook her head. “I believe I am sufficiently numbed.”
Envy rolled through Sebastian. What he wouldn’t give to be relieved of the constant carousel of disturbing thoughts and images. “About five years ago, your husband came to my attention. Many spoke highly of him. Praised his intellect, ambition, and sense of morality. I spent the next year gathering intelligence on him, checking his connections and finances, monitoring his political leanings, and evaluating his mental stamina.”
“Mental stamina?” she asked. “How do you evaluate such a thing?”
Sebastian hesitated but could not come up with a valid reason not to elaborate. “By placing obstacles in his path and then observing his reactions.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why is that?” he asked. “To be a successful agent of the Nexus, one must prove oneself capable of logical thought while under incredible pressure.”
“Sounds insidious.”
“Yet necessary.”
“I shall have to take your word for it.” She rubbed her hands down her skirts. “Jeffrey passed your little test, I take it.”
“More than passed it, he excelled at that particular stage of the recruitment process.”
“How many stages are there to becoming an agent?”
He rolled his shoulders and rested his forearms on the back of the chair next to hers. Being able to discuss his work with her felt good. Oddly liberating and unexpectedly intimate. His gaze wandered over the soft lines of her face. “As many as it takes for us to know.”
***
Catherine caught Sebastian’s slow perusal of her features and felt an answering jolt in the vicinity of her chest. She angled her body more fully toward him. “Know what?”
“That the individual is trustworthy.” He pushed away from the chair back and prowled around the side, his luminous gaze locked with hers. “That he is English to the core.” He stopped in front of her. “That he has a good chance of survival.”
She swallowed back her trepidation. There was something about this side of him that intrigued her beyond bearing. His tactics were calculating, merciless. Some would even call them cold and unfeeling. But Catherine saw als
o their brilliance and a deeper, more underlying quality that drove him to these brutal lengths. He cared—about England and his agents.
“What is it exactly that they must survive, my lord?”
“A power-hungry dictator who wishes the world to bow at his Corsican feet,” Sebastian said. “At present, Napoleon Bonaparte’s most desperate wish is to destroy France’s longtime enemy, England. How will he do this? By closing the continent to British trade, thus destroying us without the mess of bloodshed.”
Everything Cochran had told her was a lie. Everything. The Nexus was organized to protect English shores against a French invasion, not to invite them in. And Jeffrey had been in league with the Nexus, not investigating them. Shame filled her heart.
“How could I have been so stupid?”
He sent her a sharp look. “There’s nothing stupid about believing in the purity of another’s heart. Unfortunately, there are those who would take advantage of such goodness.”
Catherine could barely breathe around the constriction in her throat. “When did Jeffrey become a member?”
He stopped before her, and she felt the same sense of being overwhelmed as she did all those days ago in London. This time, however, she better understood the man behind the cool facade. Knew the hero within. The masked vulnerability without. He lowered himself in front of her.
“Sebastian, what of your knee?”
“All the pressure is on my good one. Do not worry, mama hen.”
Her lips twitched. “You were saying?”
“About four years ago.” He readjusted his weight. “We discussed his inclusion during my last visit to Showbury.”
“During the Harrison house party?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
She couldn’t hold his gaze. “A guess.”
“A very good one.” Bending forward, he gripped the arms of her chair. “What brought you to that conclusion?”
Her chest seemed to cave in, pressing against her lungs. She forced herself to face him again. “It was my last glimpse of the man I married. All the times I saw him between then and his death, he was nothing more than an actor playing a part. Badly.”
The warmth that had been building behind his steel-gray eyes extinguished, and his supple lips compressed into a thin, resolute line. With one glance, she knew he regretted the consequences of his association with her husband and she also knew he would not apologize for them either. He was a man of action. Once he evaluated the situation and made a decision, he did not look back.
Instead of moving away, he pressed closer. “Do you miss him?”
“Would it matter if I did?”
“No.” His eyes remained hard, but his voice grew rough. “But I would like to know, all the same.”
She shook her head. “No, Sebastian. I stopped missing him a long time ago.”
He brought his hand up to caress the line of her jaw. “Ashcroft served his country well. First as a messenger, then as an intelligence agent. He saved lives, helped avert disasters. He was a hero. Remember that, Catherine. And one day, when Sophie is older, tell her. Tell her how her father helped save England during its bleakest hour.”
She knew from experience that such knowledge did not soothe the hurt of missed birthdays and holidays, of not witnessing a daughter’s first big catch or her first gallop across the meadow. The Navy had been Catherine’s father’s life, his one passion above all else, even above his family. All his colorful medals and his crew’s effusive praise had done nothing to mend the many breaks in her heart.
But she appreciated what Sebastian was trying to do. Catherine folded her hand over his and kissed his palm, afraid to meet his gaze or express her gratitude. Because if she had done either one, he would have seen her fall in love with him.
Sensing her distress, he framed her other cheek and claimed her mouth. His kiss was passionate, full of volatility. The bone-deep chill that had invaded her body began to thaw, warming beneath his sensual assault. For the briefest of seconds, he let her burrow beneath the iron casing protecting him from harm. Beneath the casing beat the noblest of hearts, the purest of intentions. Beneath the casing she found hope.
Catherine pushed deeper, needing to learn more about this complicated man. But he discerned her attack and nudged her back, closing the small portal.
Lifting his head, he leveled his burning, yet resolute gaze on her. “What do they want?”
“Sebastian, I’m so sorry—”
He placed a finger across her mouth. “There’s no need.”
“But—”
The pad of his finger smoothed over her lower lip. “Answer me one question.”
She nodded, and he drew his hand away. He said nothing for several seconds, seeming to debate the merits of asking his question.
Then, “At any time, did you enjoy my touch?”
Catherine’s throat ached for the courage it took to ask such a question. She brushed the backs of her fingers along his unshaven jaw. “Every time, Sebastian. Every time.”
Beneath her caress, a muscle jumped. She returned her hand to her lap, unwilling to reveal any more of her blossoming feelings. For she knew, despite their shared passion, he would leave. And she would be alone again. This time, however, she knew better than to wait, for this man would not return.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and rose. At the corner table carrying an array of spirits, he paused. His stillness disconcerted her. “Are you unwell?”
“I’m fine.” When he turned back, he asked, “What does Cochran want?”
His expression, his tone, his stance—it was all reminiscent of the day she had visited him at his London town house. That meeting now felt as if it had taken place an eternity ago. Catherine fought to hold back an indelicate shiver.
“A list.”
If she thought he was still before, she had been wrong. The man who faced her was hewn of solid marble, not a hair or muscle moved. All warmth was gone. “What sort of list?”
“The one cataloging all trait—agents of the Nexus.”
Fury twisted his handsome face into a mask of hatred. He grasped something off the table and propelled it across the chamber; a monstrous shattering of crystal followed. “Bloody Reeves!”
Frowning, Catherine asked, “Reeves?”
But his anger made him deaf to her query. He prowled the length of the chamber, muttering recriminations and casting Reeves to the devil.
Catherine rose and placed the chair between them. She did not really believe the chair could protect her, but the meager barrier gave her a sense of comfort all the same.
He stopped. “Who the hell is Cochran?” White flames licked the outer edges of his steel-gray eyes.
Catherine clenched her teeth. “Supposedly a friend of Jeffrey’s. Someone who worked with my husband at the Foreign Office.”
His eyes narrowed. “When did Cochran first approach you?”
“In London. The afternoon following our meeting. He caught me outside Grillon’s and offered his condolences.”
“And offered you a good deal more information, I suspect.”
With his mask of indifference back in place, Catherine could no longer read the true intent behind his words. “Yes.”
“So,” he said, “the Foreign Office official shared some of the sordid details about your husband’s death, enough to cast me in a poor light.” He paused and lifted a brow in her direction.
She nodded.
“Then he ever so casually mentioned the government’s investigation into my last mission, sending further suspicion in my direction.”
Catherine closed her eyes, feeling like the absolute gudgeon she was.
“After Cochran established his willingness to share sensitive information, he asked for a favor in return.”
Nausea bubbled in the back of her throat. “All I wanted was t
he truth about my husband’s death.” She covered her mouth with her hand, certain she was about to be sick.
A large warm palm wrapped around her trembling fingers. He drew them to his lips, kissing their pads. “I’m sorry, Catherine. I should not have allowed my anger free rein. You are innocent in all this.”
“My stupidity”—his hand tightened, cutting off her recrimination—“my naïveté knows no bounds, does it?”
“Do not fret.” He pressed a gentling kiss upon her lips. “We have all succumbed to such ploys.”
She swallowed, wanting more of his reassuring lips. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it.” He released her hand and moved away. “Did Cochran ever mention a Lord Latymer?”
“No, not that I recall.”
He released a frustrated sigh. “Then I would like to know how Cochran found out about Reeves’s directive that I provide a list of all my agents, including their true identities.”
“Who is Reeves?”
“He’s the new Superintendent of the Alien Office.” He threw her an inquiring look. “Cochran explained the Alien Office’s function?”
“Intelligence gathering?”
“Good enough,” he said. “To my knowledge, no one knew about Reeves’s order, besides myself and three of my agents.”
“Maybe they let it slip?” she suggested.
“No,” he said. “At the time I informed them, I had not committed to the deed.”
“And now?” Catherine held her breath, expecting a rebuke.
His gaze flattened. “There is no and will be no catalog of agents. I will take their identities to the grave.”
Catherine stared at him with something akin to awe. How does one contain such a noble heart behind a shroud of ice? At great sacrifice to himself, he planned to disregard his superior’s order and protect the men and women under his command. The same way he protected his young wards all those years ago. The same way he promised to protect her and Sophie now.
On the cusp of that realization, her awe began to fade and a new sentiment emerged.
Terror.
“If I don’t bring Cochran the Nexus, he’s going to kill my daughter.”
Checkmate, My Lord Page 24