by Cora Lee
“I wish you would.”
Her voice wavered just a little, and Hart chastised himself yet again for being such an idiot. “I did ask your maid to watch you, and to watch who was near you, but not because I didn’t trust you. You’ve been one of the more trustworthy people in my life, Sarah, even when you were just choosing my books.”
“Then why did you force Lucy to spy on me? What did you hope to learn?”
“I’d hoped to learn who had threatened your life.” He took her other hand and ran his thumbs over the backs of both of them. “I thought that perhaps someone would try to harm you by getting close to you. Mrs. Nichols chose the girl herself, after very careful consideration, so I knew she could be trusted. And a lady’s maid is the closest person to her mistress, closer even than the lady’s husband at times. She would know if someone was around who wasn’t supposed to be, and I could take action. It was another way to keep you safe.”
“That’s what you were talking to her about the day we arrived at Hartland Abbey.”
He’d spoken to the maid in Sarah’s dressing room that day to confirm she would comply with his request. “You heard that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Because I heard you with Lucy or because you got caught invading my privacy and betraying my trust?”
“Everything,” he replied without hesitation.
Her brows drew together and she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly the way she always did when she was trying to steady herself. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Why go behind my back?”
He could see the pain on her face as clearly as he could feel it in his own chest. “I didn’t want to worry you, Sarah. You had just found out that your mother lied to you and you were about to become penniless, and that someone wanted you dead. After marrying me and running away to Devon, I didn’t know if you could handle the idea that someone in our own home could be a danger to you.”
“Let’s say I accept that explanation. We barely knew each other then, after all. Did you plan to tell me later?”
He pressed his lips together before answering. “No.” It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was the truth. And he owed her that.
She withdrew her hands from his grasp. “It was my life in danger, my maid you had watching me. But you were never going to tell me?”
“It was for your own good, Sarah.”
As soon as the words left his mouth he knew it was the wrong thing to say. She stood and put several feet of space between them.
“For my own good, you say? Am I a child? An imbecile? Am I so weak that you think to shelter me from my own life?”
Her voice rose in pitch and volume with each question, and Hart felt compelled to get to his feet. “You are none of those things. But I did think to spare you as much worry as I could, to keep unpleasant things from distressing you.”
“The unpleasant things in my own life!” She stalked further away from him, positioning herself behind a chair as she clutched its back. “Have you kept other things from me?”
“Yes.”
“Things that affect me?”
“Yes.”
“You have as little respect for me as my mother did. But you managed to tell her the truth when you sent her north.”
It was getting harder and harder to look her in the eye, and she did him the favor of turning away. He ran his hands through his hair and dropped back onto the chaise. Idiot was too mild—he’d easily regressed to heartless bastard.
“Tell me.”
She’d turned to face him again, her hands clutching the back of the chair and her chin raised, looking for all the world like Wellington must have after his troops rampaged through Badajoz.
Hart hesitated another moment, then decided to obey. If she wanted to know everything he would tell her everything. Perhaps then she’d understand why he’d kept it all from her in the first place.
“All right. Where should I start?”
“The letters you received at Hartland Abbey, the ones that drove you into your workshop day and night.”
The first of many, as it had turned out. “One was from Ollie, informing me that a shop in Bond Street had been bombed. The bombs had released some kind of gas and no one knew what it was. The second was from a contact of mine you haven’t met providing more details. Four people died as a result of the gas in the shop—their lungs filled with fluid until they could no longer breathe.”
Her face paled, but she held fast to the chair. “And that is why you wanted to make a mask that could clean the air. To save people if it happened again.”
“Yes.”
“And the other letters you received by ‘special messenger’?”
“Those were updates from other contacts. There were two other bombings after the first. The second one killed four more people, and the third killed eight.”
She moved around the chair and sat herself down. “How awful.”
“And I can’t get my mask to work.”
“How awful,” she said again, more softly this time. Hart thought perhaps he heard a note of sympathy as well, but that could have been wishful thinking.
And there was more. “Three days ago, a man was caught trying to dispose of Lady Ashfield’s body, and that of her coachman. When questioned by the magistrate, this man admitted to abducting her from her carriage during her drive to Hartland Abbey and killing her along with her coachman. He thought she was you.”
Whatever color was left drained from Sarah’s face.
But Hart wasn’t done. “He’d removed her head and intended to transport it to Seven Dials to collect his reward.”
“Oh God,” she whispered.
“Then today,” he continued, gaining momentum, “I received another letter from my contacts in London. One person has claimed responsibility for all three bombings. Sarah, it was Lady Rebecca Barrington.”
She didn’t reply, didn’t seem to react at all. Then she seized the arm of her chair and leaned heavily against it. “Lady Rebecca? She’s an earl’s daughter. Diana said she was very popular among the ton and does a lot of charity work. Why would she bomb shops in London?”
“I don’t know. But she’s also threatened Diana.”
Sarah’s head jerked up. “What?”
How was he going to tell her that her best friend’s life was now in just as much danger as her own? “A letter was posted anonymously to the Talbot household demanding your return to London in exchange for Diana’s life.”
“And you think it was Rebecca?”
“Diana recognized the handwriting.”
Sarah’s mouth pulled into a frown. “Someone could have forged it. How did Lady Rebecca claim responsibility for the bombings?”
“She sent a letter to several newspapers, and they all printed it.”
“Then how do you know it was really her? Anyone could have sent those letters.”
He knew she was going to ask that. And he was prepared to answer her question. “A friend of mine is verifying it as we speak.”
Sarah dropped her head into her hands, and Hart waited for the sound of her sobbing to fill the room. He stood and started toward her when she took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his.
“If someone in London knows all of this, then I assume Lady Rebecca has been arrested.”
Hart shook his head. “She’s disappeared. None of my contacts have been able find her so far.”
“Is she the one who sent those men after me?”
“That hasn’t been confirmed yet, but it makes sense. Diana’s letter arrived after the attack on us in Hartland failed and you remained alive.”
Sarah’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t understand... She tried to help us when we were caught together at Lord Preston’s ball.”
“I know this must be difficult...”
Hart didn’t get to finish his thought. Sarah was on her feet in the blink of an eye, coming to a halt just inches away from him. “You said you only found out toda
y about the threat to Diana. Were you going to tell me about that?”
“I-I hadn’t decided.”
“My closest friend in the world was told she’d die if I didn’t travel to London, and you—” She poked him in the chest hard with her index finger. “—weren’t sure if you wanted to tell me? You really do think me weak.”
“Not you, me,” he replied softly, realizing the truth as he spoke the words. “I was barely holding myself together. Each new letter sent me reeling again, and it was all I could do not to bury myself in my workshop and never come out.”
She folded her arms across her chest and pressed her lips together as if she didn’t believe him.
Hart reached for her, sliding his hands down her shoulders. “You were the only thing keeping me from insanity, Sarah. And I didn’t have the strength to tell you, to burden you with all of this.”
“You’re telling me now.”
“My conscience finally became louder than my cowardice.”
She was unyielding beneath his hands. “Do I know everything now?”
Everything except his part in Wellington’s intelligence gathering ring. He’d been sworn to secrecy on that but part of him wanted to tell her anyway, to lay it all out for her. “Everything that directly relates to you, yes.”
“That sounds like a dodge. What aren’t you telling me, Hartland?”
“I belong to a clandestine organization that gathers information to keep the realm safe and help win the war.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders. “I can’t tell you any more—I shouldn’t even tell you that much. But now you know everything.”
She was silent, her face set in a neutral expression. He’d expected tears by now, or at least some nervous pacing, but she wasn’t showing any indication of either.
“All right, then. What is our plan? How are we going to deal with Lady Rebecca?”
“Not ‘we’, Sarah. Me, with some help from my contacts and Ollie.”
“But I must stay away, where I’m safe and won’t bother you?” She stalked away from him, almost stomping around the room for a few moments before returning to her original place before him. “Remember when we had our first picnic near your workshop in Hartland? I told you then that I was stronger than I looked.”
And not just physically, it seemed.
She squared her shoulders and continued, “If it were you and Major Oliver under threat, you’d handle the problem yourself, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would,” he replied. Where was she going with this line of thought?
“Then allow me to participate in my own defense and to defend my friend.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a finger to quiet him. “I know I don’t have your fighting skills or training with weapons. But there are other things I can do.”
She made an excellent point there. Her knowledge of chemistry far surpassed his own, and she was infinitely better with people than he was. In dealing with a woman who liked to bomb populated targets with some strange gas, both those attributes could become assets. And if he were in her place, he’d certainly rail against being excluded. Perhaps she could be a part of stopping Lady Rebecca without putting herself in danger. After betraying Sarah’s trust the way he had—the way her mother had at the start of all of this—he owed her some sort of inclusion.
“Yes, there are other things you can do, and I will happily avail myself of those things.” He took both her hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Just remember that I promised to keep you safe, and I intend to keep that promise.”
She didn’t kiss him or embrace him or even smile at him, she simply nodded and withdrew her hands. “I know.”
Neither of them spoke for several more moments, and the silence became awkward between them.
“I’ll let you get back to your book,” he told her, gesturing to where it lay on the chaise. “Will you meet me in my study after dinner this evening? We can go over what we know about the situation and begin to form our plan.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. Until this evening, then.” He bowed clumsily and showed himself out of the chamber.
Did she hate him? Was she indifferent to him? After what they’d shared together, and not just in the bedchamber, both possibilities hurt. All the more so because he had brought them on himself. It didn’t matter that he’d tried to tell Sarah about his deal with her maid before today, or that he really did have her safety in mind. She was right—he’d treated her like a weak child. Just like her mother had done.
Well, he’d live with the consequences. As long as Sarah was safe and unharmed, nothing else mattered. And when her situation was dealt with once and for all, Hart would spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to her.
Chapter Twelve
“My lady, you’re needed in the library.”
Lucy’s voice was tentative, as if she expected to be relieved of her position at any moment. It didn’t seem to matter that Sarah didn’t hold any ill will toward the girl—she’d only been following her employer’s orders, after all. But then, it had only been a few hours since her pact with Hartland had been revealed.
Sarah suppressed a sigh and tried to keep her voice calm. She was furious with Hartland, but she didn’t want to take it out on Lucy. “Do you know why?”
“Something about books, my lady. They arrived for his lordship, but he said you should take care of them.”
Of course he did. Hartland had immediately retreated to his workshop after their conversation. He’d likely ordered something earlier in the month and no longer wanted to remain in the house long enough to deal with it.
“Thank you, Lucy. I’ll go down in a few moments.”
The maid darted out of the room and Sarah dropped her head into her hands. She’d only just resumed her seat on the chaise longue in her sitting room after hiking the length and breadth of Glanmire House’s large park—with a sturdy footman as her bodyguard—trying to burn away her anger. She’d succeeded only in tiring herself out. Her anger toward Hartland, and toward her mother if she was completely honest, blazed even hotter and had taken on a measure of emotional pain. They were two of the three people in her life that she trusted the most, and they’d both stomped all over that trust. They’d taken away what little control she had over her own life and hoarded it for themselves.
The two people she loved most in the world didn’t give a damn about what she wanted.
The tears came then, hot and fast, and with such force Sarah couldn’t stop them. A month’s worth of pent up fear and rage and grief, all the emotions she had pushed down to deal with at a more convenient time, poured out of her in a torrent. She covered her face, pressing a hand against her mouth as her shoulders shook, trying to muffle the sobs wrenched from her throat.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, but her eyes and lungs ached when the tears finally dried up. The anger she’d tried so hard to dispel with her hike had died to embers, perhaps out of sheer exhaustion. Those embers still burned, but they were now accompanied by a sense of composure. Hartland might control her life, but only she held dominion over her person.
And her person wanted to investigate the library. She headed to her bedchamber to wash her face and stretch her stiff body. If there really were new books, she didn’t just want to leave them lying around in whatever disarray Hartland had no doubt left them. And it would give her something to think about besides the fact that both her mother and husband had kept life-altering information from her.
For her own good.
When she arrived in the library, she was greeted by the housekeeper, Mrs. McKenney, who stood among an array of large wooden boxes. Some had their lids already off, revealing stack upon stack of leather-bound books.
“What is all this?” Sarah asked. When Lucy had said there were books in the library, Sarah had envisioned a few or even as many as a dozen. But there were at least ten boxes scattered across the floor and tables, each containing what looked to be twenty books.
“I was hoping you’d know, my lady,” Mrs. McKenney replied. If she noticed Sarah’s red eyes, she was astute enough not to mention them. “The men who delivered all this said it was for his lordship from Hartland Abbey, but his lordship said it was all for you. What do you suppose it means?”
Sarah pushed back a lid that had already been pried off and rummaged through the contents. “This one is all novels...” She moved to another box and repeated the process. “...and these are mathematics texts.”
The housekeeper joined in, opening the box nearest her. “These are all in another language, my lady.”
Sarah leaned over for a look. “French, I’d say. Does Hartland even read French?”
Mrs. McKenney shrugged and started to reply, but cut herself off. “Oh look, here’s a letter.”
Sarah accepted the folded paper and opened it. The note was brief and addressed to Hartland, but she recognized the handwriting. It belonged to Mr. Higgins.
“These are books from my parent’s bookshop,” she said softly, never taking her eyes from the letter. “It looks to be what was left of our inventory.”
“His lordship sent you a bookshop?”
Mr. Higgins’s note was dated several weeks prior. Hartland must have made arrangements to purchase the books and have them transported to the Abbey before or shortly after they’d left London, then had them sent on to Glanmire House. Thoughtful of him, particularly since he hardly knew her at that point.
Though it seemed he still didn’t know her that well. “It appears so.”
“Then you’ll be needing help putting these all away.” Mrs. McKenney gathered her skirts in one hand and picked her way among the boxes toward the door. “I’ll send a couple of footmen to help you, my lady.”
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary.” Shelving her parents’ books would soothe her aching heart. It would almost be like walking among the shelves in their shop again. “Perhaps you could send them in later to help with the boxes, though.”
“As you wish.”
Mrs. McKenney departed and Sarah was left alone with the books she’d been surrounded by every day of her life before her marriage to Hartland. The fragrance of the wooden boxes mingled with the smell of leather covers and the pages they held. As she moved about the room extracting books from their boxes and finding homes for them on Hartland’s bookcases, the scent and the feel of the books in her hand calmed her further.