No matter what class you were born to, a mother ought to be a person who comforted. A father should be someone you could rely on. Breanne had neither—no one who was willing to teach her what she needed to know with patience and understanding—and Rom could empathize with the lack.
His own parents had died when he was only ten, leaving him and his small estate to the guardianship of an uncle, who had loved and cared for Rom as if he were his own son. But his uncle had also died young. Rom had been left alone in the world, and would probably have fallen prey to the many temptations available to young noblemen had he not been taken under the wing of Caspar Norelle. The older man had encouraged him to keep his wits sharp and seek active employment, which he’d done. Rom had spent the past fourteen years serving the Crown all over the world, with the result that he was rarely ever in one place for long and preferred it that way. In fact, he’d sold his estate a few years back and never once regretted it.
He did, however, occasionally wish that he had someone to come home to, whether that home was a townhouse, a farmhouse, or a set of rented rooms in Evenleigh. If he ever was fortunate enough to have a family, he would certainly never abandon or betray them, as it seemed Stockton Seagrave had done many times over.
But it was highly unlikely that Rom would ever have such a thing. He was home too rarely, and his lifestyle would never be called settled. He could not imagine asking a wife to wait for him, even if he happened to find one that would be willing.
After his distressingly short walk to the kitchens, his cook informed him that the picnic was already set out on the west lawn, so Rom reluctantly made his way back to the drawing room where Breanne was now thumping away discordantly on his ancient, out-of-tune clavier. Louise was sitting stiffly erect in her chair, making no attempt to hide her disgust.
“A creditable performance,” he announced, as soon as there was a pause in the cacophony. “But I believe our picnic has been prepared, if you would care to join me?”
Breanne jumped up from her seat. “Delighted, Lord Griffin,” she proclaimed brightly. “All this playing has made me hungry as a bear.” She paused, then giggled and shook her tangled blonde curls. “I suppose I ought not have said that. But I am hungry, and I don’t see why stomachs are another thing young ladies must pretend they don’t have.”
Rom didn’t disagree, but it wasn’t like he could say so in front of Louise. He settled for a vacuous smile and offered both ladies an arm, reminding himself firmly that he only needed to keep them occupied long enough for his man to search the study at Crestwood. He also needed to ensure that he didn’t give Louise any encouragement in her pursuit.
He had leased the rundown estate merely to provide proximity to his target, and had been almost instantly taken aback by the change in his neighbor’s behavior. Between her deliberate displays of the luxuries of her home, her flirtatious conversation, and her blatant attempts to make herself appear younger, the former Lady Seagrave had done everything she could to signal that she was wealthy and available, a potentially desirable match for an aging peer in need of a rich wife.
Shocked and somewhat appalled, Rom had found it increasingly difficult to disentangle himself from her advances, while still remaining friendly enough to gain access to her life. Perhaps in that respect Breanne’s visit could actually be of benefit. He could pretend to be taken with her, and thereby convince her mother that she would need to look elsewhere for a titled husband. Rom was willing to do a great deal for king and country, but he wasn’t about to be trapped into marriage by a calculating harpy.
So, as soon as they reached the west lawn, he devoted himself to Breanne, and listened to every word of her nonsense with the appearance of enjoyment.
Louise grew visibly more and more agitated, until at length, when they had finished eating, she rose to her feet and smiled at Rom. “I have spied a lovely little gazebo at the far end of your lawn, Lord Griffin. Would you be so kind as to escort me while I stroll over to take a closer look?”
“I am at your service,” he said, rising slowly to his feet and brushing off his ill-fitting coat. “Lady Seagrave, would you care to join us?”
Louise’s lips pinched together as Breanne smiled sunnily and shook her head.
“I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your time together,” she said, with a sly wink at Louise. “And Lord Griffin, since it seems we may someday be related, I give you leave to call me Brenna.”
“But is your name not Breanne?”
“I suppose that was the one I was born with.” She shrugged. “But no one who has cared for me has ever called me that, so I should much prefer that you call me by the name I have chosen for myself.”
Rom winced at the implication. “Of course, my lady. And as we are to be neighbors, I must insist that you call me Rom, as your mother does.”
“Rom, you cannot be serious,” Louise hissed, as soon as they were out of earshot. “To be making up to her in that ridiculous way? It’s going to turn her silly little head and she’s too inexperienced to know that you’re only having fun at her expense.”
“She might be a trifle innocent, perhaps,” he replied cautiously, “but she’s quite pretty, you know. And she doesn’t seem to mind that I’m not as fashionable as some men. I don’t think she would pout if I came in to dinner in my riding boots, and it isn’t like I could support a wife who insisted on all the latest styles.”
He glanced over and observed the blood draining from his companion’s face.
“Rom. Are you actually…” She clutched at her skirts. “You’re not thinking of making my appalling daughter an offer. I thought I was clear about her need for guidance, her social inexperience… everything! She’s hopelessly gauche! And you’ve only known her a few days!”
“Well now, as to that…” He stammered a bit before coming to the point. “I don’t know. But there aren’t that many ladies here who are interested in a lord with more land than money, especially one who, as my dear mother used to say, has more meat than merit, and is past his best years.” He laughed ponderously at his own lame attempt at humor.
“And of course it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s a countess,” Louise interjected bitterly.
“Well, one does have to think of these things after all,” Rom said apologetically. “An estate doesn’t run itself, you know. And there’s not much income to be had here in the midst of the forest.”
“I see.” Louise lifted her chin and dropped his arm. “I believe I’ve changed my mind about the gazebo. The sun has grown too hot and I have developed a sudden headache. Please be so kind as to call for my carriage at once.”
“My dear Louise, have I offended you in some way?” Rom babbled his way through an apology, but his guest was obdurate, and he ended by scurrying off to the stables in relief to inform her driver that the Ladies Seagrave were ready to depart.
Perhaps he had overdone it a trifle, but he doubted Brenna Seagrave would be sharp enough to detect his feigned interest. Even if she had, she was convinced her mother desired to attach him, and there was simply no way Louise would inform Brenna that the object of her pursuit preferred her daughter.
No, he should be safe. And if his man at Crestwood had managed to obtain the proof they sought, his sojourn in the inhospitable wilds of Camber would hopefully come to a close before too many more days had passed.
Chapter 5
Dear Sir,
I find that circumstances beyond my control necessitate a hastening of your task. Some improvisation may be necessary, but please recall my advice as to the preferred method and proceed at the earliest possible moment. Despite the unexpected urgency, I continue to expect swift, silent, and untraceable action. Send word by the usual messenger when your work is complete.
- Grim Hill
Brenna could not remember ever being so exhausted. Faline’s evil plot had been even more effective than she’d anticipated, but it took work to pretend to be quite that stupid. It had been worth it though—Louise had be
en satisfyingly appalled. She wanted an unpolished, unacceptable daughter? Then that was what she would get. And if Brenna’s antics embarrassed her mother in front of the object of her romantic pursuit? So much the better.
Lord Griffin, unfortunately, had proven much harder to discomfit. The man was so relentlessly agreeable, trying to fence with him verbally was like sparring with a feather pillow. The hits simply sank in without him noticing. His every move was so slow and deliberate, Brenna was sure she could see him thinking it through before he took a step or lifted a bite of food to his mouth.
There at the last, she had almost begun to wonder whether he was showing signs of romantic interest. At least, he’d appeared to hang on her words, and laughed at things that Brenna intended to be more shocking than funny. It was a novel experience to attract a man’s notice for her wit rather than her money—even a man so slow of thought as Rom—but no matter. She was sure that after her performance, Louise would redouble her efforts to prevent any further meetings between Brenna and the shambling, shaggy-haired Lord Griffin.
In fact, Louise didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about spending time with Brenna either. She’d been resolutely silent and stone faced on their return to Crestwood, and disappeared into her study shortly thereafter. Brenna dined alone after Louise pleaded a headache, and returned to her room afterwards to confer with Faline and decide what she was going to do next.
“I can’t stay here for the whole two weeks,” she informed her maid decisively. “It will drive me mad. As amusing as it is to toy with Louise, it’s also disheartening and I don’t believe I can keep it up.”
“Perhaps not,” Faline agreed. “But mayhap you ought to think about staying for at least a short while longer.” Her expression grew calculating.
“Considering that you appear to have interesting news, I’m willing to entertain the idea,” Brenna replied, sitting on her bed and leaning back onto a mountain of pillows. “What have you learned?”
“Not so much what I’ve learned as what I’ve observed.” Faline sat primly at the foot of the bed and cast a disparaging glance at Brenna’s posture.
“After the day I’ve had, you’d lounge about as well,” she muttered, sitting up with an enormous sigh. “Happy now?”
“I’m only looking out for your welfare,” Faline insisted with a tiny sniff.
“Oh, stuff it.” Brenna rolled her eyes. “And tell me what you’ve observed.”
“I observed that insufferable butler, Danward, rifling through his lady’s desk,” Faline announced coolly.
Brenna sat up a lot straighter.
“Insufferable, how? And did he find anything?”
“Insufferable with his perfect hair and his perfect teeth and his perfect manners that never slip so much as an inch, even in the servants hall,” Faline complained. “He’s so perfectly polite I can’t tell a thing about him but I could swear he’s laughing at me.”
Brenna chuckled. “I think you like him.”
“I do not like him,” Faline snapped. “And I don’t know if he found anything. I watched him go through several drawers, including a secret one behind a bookshelf, and he seemed to know exactly what he was looking for.”
“Well, that is interesting, I must say,” Brenna mused. “If it were anyone else, I would report him for such behavior. However, I can’t say that Louise doesn’t bear watching, considering my own questions about how she’s obtained the money to keep this place up. Do you think him the sort who would attempt theft?”
“I doubt it,” Faline replied. “He was looking more closely at papers, reading over them before moving on to the next. It was information he was after if you ask me.”
“Lizbet did warn me to be careful.” Brenna wondered if this could have anything to do with her friend’s vague suggestions of caution. Was Louise involved in anything shady or illegal? It could be that she’d obtained her money by somewhat questionable means. Or it could be that her inheritance had been larger than anyone knew.
“Perhaps we will stay an extra day or two,” she announced, drawing a laugh from Faline.
“Never could resist an investigation, could you?”
“That’s terribly unfair,” Brenna protested. “I’ve barely investigated anything since we’ve known each other.”
“Oh, and that explains why you are always sending off for reports and shuttling packets back and forth from Lady Norelle’s office.”
“I have not the smallest idea what you’re talking about,” Brenna said loftily. “And now I think it is time for bed before I incriminate myself any further.”
She dressed for bed, lay down and blew out her candle, but Brenna had no luck whatsoever falling asleep. She kept wondering whether this trip had been a mistake, whether she ought to just ask Louise what had truly occurred when she was born, or whether she should simply return home and allow it to be a mystery.
The answer wouldn’t change what had happened. And, as things stood, it wasn’t likely to change her relationship with Louise. The woman was critical, self-centered and cruel.
But she’d also been under the thumb of a critical, controlling man for much of her life. Was that not some excuse for her behavior? Could she change, given the opportunity?
Brenna’s eyes were just beginning to drift shut when she became aware of a slight breeze that she had not noted before. One of her curtains twitched slightly, and the barest whisper of a footstep caught her ear.
Had she been any other countess, she probably would have either screamed for help, dismissed the disturbance as a night breeze, or lain frozen under her covers while waiting for her fate. Brenna reached for the knife under her pillow and prepared for an attack.
Another suggestion of sound emerged from the dark, and before Brenna could move, there was a man standing by her bed. His silhouette loomed over her in the moonlight, one hand holding a naked blade. It wasn’t pointed at her, but she wasn’t about to wait for him to decide where to strike. She threw her blankets at him, leapt out of bed in the opposite direction and set her back to the door.
The man made no move to follow her. “Mrs. Delaney,” he said, in a flat, emotionless voice. His tone was low and uninflected, offering not the smallest hint of what sort of person might have spoken. “You’ve made a valiant effort, but you know you can’t escape.”
Whoever he was, lover or assassin, he’d gotten the wrong room. Brenna started to tell him so, until memory caught up with her. She had once been Mrs. Delaney, but only on a secret voyage to another country that had nearly ended in disaster. No one had reason to know that name, except maybe…
“Quinn?”
“You were expecting some other assassin?”
Brenna choked on her retort. “Pardon me if I wasn’t expecting any assassins at all. What are you doing here?”
Silence met her query.
“Quinn, why are you in Camber and what are you doing in my room?”
His answer held neither interest nor emotion. “I was hired to murder you.”
It was such a Quinn thing to say. No opinions, just the facts. Except when the facts were that someone wanted you dead badly enough to pay for it, it would be nice if the message were conveyed with some sort of sympathy.
“I see.” Brenna lowered her knife. “Nice to see you too. Haven’t heard from you in a while. How have you been? Please pardon me while I consider my last requests.”
“You shouldn’t lower that knife,” Quinn replied coolly. “I’ve been paid to cut out your heart.”
“Yes,” Brenna said with a sigh. “I’m sure you were. Boohoo, woe is me, and all that. Now put up the sword while I stoke the fire. It seems you have some explaining to do.”
Quinn did nothing so normal as sheathing his sword, sitting down, or even leaning against the wall. He remained armed and alert while Brenna found her wrap, stirred the fire, and added coal. When it was burning well, she lit the room’s lamps and sat on the edge of her bed to regard the gray-clad intruder with a quizzical eye.
> “Since you announced yourself rather than simply relieving me of my life, I must assume you meant to warn me. We both know you could have killed me in my sleep. Who hired you?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t have bothered warning you.” Quinn’s remarks were always cryptic, but this was a new low.
“So if you knew who hired you to kill me, you would have just killed me?”
“I would have relieved them of their delusions that I’m a killer for hire,” Quinn corrected. “My services are often used as bait. I was paid by a proxy—a man who does odd jobs here in Camber—and Lady Norelle wants to know who’s behind it.”
“When were you hired? And where?” That might limit the possibilities.
“Thirty-four days ago, in Evenleigh.”
“Why, Quinn.” Brenna pressed a hand to her heart. “You were in town and didn’t even stop by to say hello to an old friend? I’m crushed.”
Quinn didn’t so much as smile, because Quinn never smiled. The nondescript sandy-haired man was possibly the most stoic Brenna had ever encountered. Ever since their adventures in Caelan, she had gone out of her way to provoke him on every meeting, hoping to at least draw a smile or some tiny indication that he thought of her as an acquaintance. Assassins, he had once insisted, did not have friends.
But no matter how he thought of her, Quinn had been an integral part of their success—and survival—in Caelan, and no group could go through such trials together without forming a bond of some sort. Irritating as he was, Brenna was glad to see him.
“So, you were hired by an unknown person to rid the world of my presence, and tracked me all the way here hoping to do what, exactly?”
“I was hired to stay close,” he said. “Wait for the right moment. Whoever wants you dead, didn’t want it to happen right away, and they didn’t want it happening in Evenleigh.”
daughter of lies Page 6