Checkmate, My Lord

by Tracey Devlyn

  Sebastian followed behind Danforth, Reeves, and the inseparable pair, mentally preparing himself for the next few hours. They had much to discuss, and unfortunately, he would have to pretend that he did not wish to whisk Catherine away to a private chamber.

  Not thinking, Sebastian strode to the side table holding an assortment of crystal decanters. He poured brandy for the men and sherry for the women. When he made to tip back his first glass, he caught Catherine’s concerned look out of the corner of his eye before she hastily averted her gaze.

  Something unpleasant swelled in his gut. The sensation grew worse when his nose caught its first whiff of the amber liquid’s rustic fruity blend, followed swiftly by the sharp sting of alcohol. Lowering his hand, he returned the squat glass to the side table and took up a familiar position near the fireplace.

  “Superintendent Reeves,” Cora said, “what brings you to Showbury? At such a propitious moment?”

  If the Foreign Office official was bothered by Cora’s suspicious tone, he did not show it. “Lord Somerton’s letter.”

  Sebastian’s agents turned as one to him. “At no time did our evidence point to Reeves, even though he was the logical choice,” he said. “But I knew Cochran was getting his information from within the Foreign Office. So, I took a leap of faith.”

  “After a few inquiries and several threats,” Reeves said, “I found Cochran’s source. My clerk, Bradford. A man I trusted.”

  “Does Cochran even work at the Foreign Office, sir?” Catherine asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Reeves said. “He’s a minor clerk to the under-secretary of the Foreign Office. In Bradford’s defense, he did not realize the information he confided to Cochran was being used for such ill purpose. The man’s ambitious nature led him to risky choices. I daresay he hoped Cochran would provide a suitable reference when the time came.”

  “And the investigation against Lord Somerton?” Helsford asked.

  “Dropped.”

  The room’s occupants breathed a collective sigh of relief. Catherine ducked her head and closed her eyes. Sebastian watched her mouth move over silent words.

  Tearing his gaze away, he said, “Thank you, sir.”

  “It is I who should thank you,” Reeves said. “Although you were not fond of my decision to place you on leave, you appeared to understand.” His gaze roamed the room at large. “And my apologies to all of you—especially Mrs. Ashcroft and her family—for the role my clerk played in this injurious plot. You cannot know how aggrieved I am at your suffering.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Reeves,” Catherine said. “But you are not to blame. If anyone owes us an apology, it is Frederick Cochran, and he is dead. So, we will pick up the pieces of our lives and carry on, good sir.”

  “You are too gracious, I assure you, ma’am,” Reeves said, with a bow. “But I thank you, all the same.”

  “Three dead bodies in a small village like Showbury are bound to attract some notice.” Danforth sank deeper into his chair. “Not good for the Nexus.”

  “Leave the bodies to me.” Sebastian kept his gaze ahead.

  “As I do not fully comprehend what ‘leave the bodies to me’ means,” Catherine said, “I would like to make arrangements for Mrs. Clarke to have a proper burial.”

  Sebastian straightened and gave her his full attention. “You wish to look after a woman in league with the man who threatened your daughter’s life?”

  She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. “I do.”

  “Care to expound, madam?”

  “She was a mother.”

  Sebastian studied her resolute gaze, her squared shoulders, and her clasped hands. “I take it the two of you found something in common.”

  Her nod was somewhat shaky. “Before she died, she spoke of her son, Giles.” She stared down at her hands for a moment, struggling with emotion. Then she raised her head, her pretty brown eyes full of misery. “He’s in London, at a boys’ home somewhere, to ensure his mother’s cooperation. Mrs. Clarke did what she had to do to protect him.”

  As she had with her daughter, as he would with her and Sophie.

  “We will find him,” Sebastian assured her, recalling the name Abbingale Home from Ashcroft’s missing letter. His gaze settled on Danforth, who nodded his understanding. With luck, Abbingale would provide the link they needed to locate Latymer. A scene flashed through his mind. “Silas, before he was killed, spoke fluent French.”

  “Perhaps others besides the Frenchman Valère have been working Latymer’s marionette strings,” Reeves said.

  Helsford, who stood behind Cora, smoothed his hand over her sable locks. She grasped his fingers and kissed their tips. The sight sent an answering pang of longing through Sebastian, and his gaze sought Catherine’s, but she was also watching the display of affection.

  “Where do we go from here?” Danforth asked.

  Sebastian rubbed his temple, feeling the events of the day depleting his strength. “You can begin making inquiries into homes for orphans. Start with Abbingale Home.” He dropped his hand. “Helsford, see if your informant can track down Latymer.”

  “Yes, sir,” Helsford said.

  “What of me?” Cora asked.

  “You are on leave until after the first of the year.”

  “What?”

  “If you push me,” Sebastian said in the hardest voice he could muster, “I will make it permanent.”

  Cora’s body vibrated with anger, but she said nothing.

  “Enjoy your respite, runt,” her brother said. “Go home and play with that thing you call a kitten. If that doesn’t excite you enough, I should like to have a nephew. Or a niece, if you must.”

  “Ethan,” Cora attempted to rise, but Helsford grabbed her shoulders, “do you recall our conversation about your head getting lopped off?”

  Danforth held a large bolster across his body like a shield. “No need for violence, sister. Just trying to offer you my support.”

  Helsford broke in. “Shall we report back to you here? Or London?”

  The silence that pervaded the study rubbed Sebastian’s nerves raw, as did the avid stares of everyone in the room. Everyone but one, that was. He felt Catherine’s disinterest more keenly than any probing gaze.

  “London,” he said. “It is past time for my return.”

  “Well,” Catherine said, rising. “Since there is nothing left for me to do here, I shall collect Sophie and be off.”

  Sebastian’s stomach knotted, yet he could not bring himself to dissuade her.

  “Catherine, you must stay the night.” Cora sent Sebastian a cross look. “We cannot be certain the danger has passed.”

  “For me, it has,” Catherine said. “Cochran and Silas are dead, and Lord Somerton is aware of my ruse. My unique services are of no further use to anyone. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Bastian! You’re back.” A whirlwind of fluttering furbelows and bouncing curls charged into the room and slammed into Sebastian. Thin arms enfolded his middle, and Sophie buried her face into the soft fabric of his waistcoat.

  Stunned by the child’s enthusiastic greeting, Sebastian stood rigidly in the center of the study, with his arms aloft. He glanced at Catherine for guidance and found her eyes misted with tears. Then she lifted her watery gaze up to his, and Sebastian felt his heart rip in half.

  Sophie peered up at him. “What took you so long, Bastian? Ethan said you would be along soon, but that was hours ago.”

  He rested a hand on top of her head. “Ethan, is it?”

  She gave him a broad grin, one that conveyed she already knew how to wrap a man around her little finger. Then her smile dimmed. “Did you take the bad men to the con-stable?”

  Sebastian froze, his gaze seeking Catherine’s again. This time, she nodded.

  “Constable, pumpkin.”

  “Didn’t I say
that, Mama?”

  Sebastian crouched down. “You don’t ever have to worry about the bad men again.”

  She leaned into him and toyed with his collar. “Do you promise?”

  He tapped his finger beneath her chin. “Promise.”

  “Brilliant! That’s what I told, Mama. That you would always protect us.” Her voice lowered into a stage whisper. “She was crying when she returned, and I wanted to make her feel better.”

  “You were quite right to do so.”

  She shook her head and tears cracked her voice. “She cried harder, Bastian.”

  Sebastian clenched his teeth so tight that he was certain they would shatter from the pressure. He fought to keep his attention centered on Sophie and not her mother, because if he saw the truth of the girl’s words on her mother’s face his control would crumble to the ground. “We will have to convince her, won’t we?”

  Sophie’s head bobbed. In a normal voice, she proclaimed, “Teddy has a big bump on his head.”

  Sebastian blinked at her change of topic. “A badge of courage.”

  “When my head hurts, Guinevere always makes it feel better.” Her gaze turned earnest. “Imagine what a whole stable full of horses could do for Teddy’s pain.”

  He chuckled. “Indeed, sprite. You should talk to Ethan about visiting them tomorrow morning. He loves showing off my stables.” In typical Danforth fashion, he was more interested in the swirling contents of his glass than the poignant conversation. “Isn’t that right, Ethan?”

  “What?” The viscount glanced between Sebastian to Sophie. “Uh, yes. That’s correct.”

  “Oh, Ethan!” Sophie skipped across the room and crawled up into Danforth’s lap. “Teddy will be so happy.”

  From the look on Danforth’s face, one would think that an enormous spider was crawling across his legs. Slouched down in his chair, Danforth was nose-to-nose with the girl as she nattered on about all the horses she’d seen earlier that day. The viscount sent Sebastian a distressed look, making it impossible for Sebastian to contain his smile.

  Sebastian gave in to the impulse and glanced at Catherine. The smile she gave him was warm and appreciative, but coated with a brittle edge. She would survive this just as she had survived her father’s death and her husband’s murder, standing against a village full of opportunistic shopkeepers and matrons who sought to place Ashcroft’s abandonment on her shoulders.

  She would survive the end of their affaire, as would he. One minute at a time, one day at a time, one month at a time. Because surviving was what they both did, no matter the personal sacrifice.

  “Sophie.” Catherine held out her hand. “Allow Lord Danforth to catch his breath. It’s time for us to go.”

  Cora stepped forward. “Please reconsider. There’s plenty of room.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

  “Cora’s right,” Sebastian heard himself say. “You’re welcome to stay. The cloud cover remains thick, making for a treacherous journey.”

  Sophie vibrated with excitement. “Oh, please, Mama. Can we stay with Bastian?”

  Catherine’s face softened. “Would you like that?”

  “Yes!”

  “Very well,” she said. “But you must turn in early. You’ve had a busy day.”

  Sophie nodded her agreement. “I’ll get lots of sleep, so Ethan and I can help Jasper feed the horses in the morning.

  Danforth groaned and murmured, “God, help me.”

  Twenty-eight

  In her borrowed dressing gown, Catherine paced the length of her bedchamber, knowing she would enjoy little sleep while beneath Sebastian’s roof. She had made a mistake in accepting his invitation to stay. Such temptation so close at hand was far stronger than her meager will. She wanted one more night in his embrace, one more evening where she felt womanly and strong and cherished. One more evening to love him.

  Catherine threw back her head and stared at the ceiling. How? How had she managed to fall in love with a man burdened with every trait she despised? Why couldn’t she have found a nice gentleman like Mr. Foster? Someone who would spend his entire life in service to the residents of Showbury and be happy about it. Gentle. Predictable. Boring.

  She released a huge sigh while her gaze traveled around the rose and lemon bedchamber. So different from the countess’s cream and gold silk-draped chamber. And a good deal safer. But the more modest-sized room made her feel caged and restless. She strode to the door leading out to a small balcony and thrust it open. A gentle summer breeze whipped through her loose hair and caressed her burning cheeks. The air was redolent with the lush scent of roses.

  The clouds had finally moved on, leaving behind an ebony sky sprinkled with diamonds. Two hours ago, one would never have known such perfection rode above the thick veil of evil. Meghan McCarthy’s youthful face surfaced in her mind’s eye, and Catherine clenched her teeth against the sadness. Through no fault of her own, the young woman had become embroiled in the machinations of ambitious, greedy men.

  Sebastian and the others had speculated that a disguised Cochran had made secret trips into Showbury, looking for clues to Jeffrey’s whereabouts and learning the landscape. Somewhere along the way, Meghan had caught Cochran’s eye.

  Catherine leaned against the iron railing, absorbing the innocence of Sebastian’s moon-kissed gardens. Her gaze touched on every hedge, every blooming flower, every gnarled limb. When she reached the sunken garden, a man emerged from beneath the canopy of a small, multi-stemmed tree, his face uplifted, his gaze luminescent and focused on her. Sebastian.

  Catherine’s fingers curled around the top railing, the metal cool and solid. Her heart thumped an erratic tattoo in her ears, but not loud enough to drown out the single word echoing in her mind. Go. Go. Go!

  Not stopping to think, to consider the consequences, she swung around and rushed through the bedchamber, having no care for her dishabille and bare feet. She stormed through the mansion as if outrunning logic and good sense. She ran until her lungs heaved and her muscles ached. She ran until she came face-to-face with her heaven and her hell. “Sebastian.”

  He gave her no time to catch her breath. He framed her face in the cradle of his hands and closed his mouth over hers. She curled her arms around his back and met his fierceness with a passion that bordered on desperation. He tasted of warmed sugar and of green tea and mint. He tasted of home.

  She broke off for a much-needed breath. “Sebastian.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” His magical lips continued their assault down her throat.

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  He froze, and Catherine winced. Where had those words come from? She had intended to beg him to make love to her, not declare such fruitless yearnings. “I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have said—” She swallowed back the damning words and stared at his chest in mortification, waiting for him to deliver his painful reminder.

  Sebastian curled his finger beneath her chin and nudged her face up. “It occurs to me that this is Saturday.”

  What an odd thing to say when she’d just made a fool of herself. “Yes, what of it?”

  “That’s four days until Wednesday.”

  “Now that we have established that you know the days of the week and their proper placement, perhaps you could tell me why that’s important now.

  “The timing is important, my impatient one, because it means I’m not going anywhere for four days.”

  “But you told Lord Helsford to report to you in London.”

  He nodded. “After Wednesday.”

  Vexing man. “I don’t understand the significance of this time frame.”

  “You wound me, madam,” he said. “The end date of our affaire approaches. Does that fact not hold some importance in your heart?”

  Catherine studied his tender expression and the playful curve to his mouth. Something had cha
nged in him during the short time they had been apart. Something significant.

  “What are you about, sir?”

  His lips twitched. “Whatever can you mean, dear lady? The notion that you may have forgotten our pleasurable arrangement calls for some distress on my part, don’t you think?”

  Her eyes narrowed in warning. “I have not forgotten our arrangement, as you well know. Hearing that you intend to stay for a while longer pleases me a great deal. But I wonder for what purpose?”

  The playful amusement left his face. “For the pleasure of each other’s company, of course.”

  “That reason is no longer enough.” Her admission hovered in the air between them. They had been through too much, tiptoed around too many issues not to speak plainly now. “I have gone and complicated this situation even more by falling in love with you.”

  “Catherine, I—”

  She set a finger over his lips. “I know you care for me, Sebastian. And I also understand intimate relations amongst your set are commonplace. That our time together was nothing more than a pleasant diversion for you during your banishment.”

  He pulled her finger away. “I admit that was the case in the beginning.”

  “I’m not casting judgment. Lord knows I have no right to after what I’ve done.”

  He skimmed the side of his finger along her temple. “You are a mother. You did what you had to.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps not. One always has options.”

  “Does that mean you wanted to share my bed?”

  For far longer than you shall ever know, my dear sweet lord. “You sound surprised.”

  “Relieved, more like,” he said. “A man is no different from a woman in this regard. We want to be desired for ourselves and not for what one can gain from an association with us.”

  The vulnerable quality to his statement made her throat ache. “My point in all this is to release you from our arrangement.”

  His countenance darkened. “What if I don’t wish to be released?”

  “Sebastian, it would not be wise for you to stay.” She squeezed his hand. “Surely, you see that.”