Noble Scoundrel (Peril & Persuasion Book 1)

by Amy Sandas

  She decided first to organize them chronologically so she could better review those pertaining to the work he’d been doing in the last years of his life since that seemed the most likely place to start looking for any connection between Charles Blackwell’s work and the current threat.

  Though tedious, the project was exactly what she needed.

  It had been nearly two days since she last encountered Hale in the entry hall the day of Mr. Newton’s initial visit. Since the bodyguard mainly contained his activities to the ballroom, they rarely crossed paths. Someday soon, she’d have to visit the space to see exactly what he and his trainees were doing to make it sound as though they might be trying to bust through the floor.

  At least she could be assured he hadn’t left the house again, as Foster understood to advise her if that happened. She knew from Frederick that his bodyguard also visited with the children rather frequently, though most often later in the day. Katherine told herself keeping her own visits with Frederick and Claire to the hours when Hale was closed up in the ballroom wasn’t at all due to any desire to avoid the man.

  She simply preferred the way the sunlight angled through the third-floor rooms at that time of day.

  Katherine was thrilled to see her brother starting to once again enjoy some of his previously passionate pursuits. He had begun work on a new maze and she hoped the project would keep him from dwelling on the fact that he was essentially confined to the house for the time being. But she knew his current contentment wasn’t likely to last very long. Her brother needed the freedom to explore, which meant she needed to get to work on resolving the identity of their enemy.

  Picking up the first journal, she began by scanning the date noted at the top of the first page and set about arranging the journals in chronological order. At the end of the morning, she had set aside nearly two dozen journals that spanned dates old enough as to make them unlikely to be connected. This reduced her area of focus to a dozen volumes, which she intended to review in depth.

  It shouldn’t take too long.

  OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL days, she spent a significant portion of each morning reading her father’s notes, beginning with a journal dated to about two years prior to the fire that had ended his life. It wasn’t easy reading. Charles Blackwell had been immersed in his field of study for decades and it wasn’t something he’d shared with his children in any detail. Many of his notations used unfamiliar scientific terminology that made them barely decipherable, but Katherine was determined to go over every little detail.

  Approximately a week after her review of the journals began, she noticed something odd.

  She’d noticed when she’d first sorted through the full collection that the journals could essentially be split into two categories. One set of journals contained documentation that was strictly limited to the science of her father’s experiments. The pages were filled with chemical formulas and detailed outlines of his experiments, complete with precise measurement and time tables, as well as any alterations in conditions and environments or other variations he introduced as he delved into the chemical properties and medicinal values of whatever plant species Charles was studying at the time. Another set of books contained coinciding dates, but were more of a running internal commentary where Charles theorized and speculated and assessed and evaluated the elements of the prior noted journals. It was also where he recorded the general circumstances or inquiries that prompted each new study or experimental subject.

  The oddity was that the journals covering roughly the last six months prior to his death were only those that contained Charles’s personal reflections. She did not have a single volume containing his scientific notations from that time.

  The discovery gave her a heavy sense of foreboding. There was no reason for her father’s methods of documentation to alter to a point where he’d eliminate an entire aspect of his work. She had no doubt the journals existed...somewhere. Or at least they had at one point.

  Had they been hidden away for some reason?

  The chances were better that the journals had been lost in the fire that had taken their father and destroyed their home.

  Accidents were not unusual considering the combustible properties of some the elements he worked with in his various experiments. Despite the extreme precautions Charles took to manage any potential risks, it was one of the many reasons Katherine and Frederick were prohibited from visiting the lab. Not even servants were allowed to enter the space.

  Unfortunately, the fire that killed her father had ignited late at night when he was the only one awake. By the time anyone else had been roused from their beds, the fire had spread too far and had become too destructive. It had burned his lab and half of their house to charred rubble.

  Katherine had awoken to the sound of distant shouts and the acrid smell of smoke burning her eyes and clogging her throat. She’d quickly roused Frederick and the two of them fled the house into the back garden, where they swallowed their fear and joined a line of servants passing buckets of water toward those doing their best to douse the flames before the entire manor was consumed.

  They were only partially successful. Though some of their house remained standing, their home was gone forever once it was confirmed Charles Blackwell had not made it out.

  Their father’s collection of journals was typically shelved behind the desk in his personal study next to his bedroom in the opposite wing from his lab. If the missing journals had been in his lab with him, they would be nothing more than dust. Another sad loss to add to the tragic consequences of that night.

  Choked by the thick lump of grief and frustration that filled her throat, Katherine paused to take several deep breaths. Spending hours and days reading her father’s words—practically hearing his voice in her head—had made it feel almost as if he were still there. But her memories of that horrible night were still so vivid nearly a year later. Thinking about it now felt like losing him all over again.

  Unfortunately, reading through the details of her father’s work had not yet resulted in the clarity she’d hoped for...only more questions. So far, there had been no indication of anything at all that could have triggered their current situation. She was beginning to think the task futile.

  Though the volumes of scientific notation were missing, there were still three journals containing her father’s reflections during those last months of his life that she had yet to read. If they revealed nothing to help in their investigation into the motivation of the attacks against Frederick, she hoped that at least she might be assured she’d exhausted the possibility.

  With a sigh and a determined roll of her shoulders, she picked up the next book.

  After only a few pages, she came across something that sparked a moment of expectancy. It appeared the project Charles was working on wasn’t going particularly well.

  From what she understood, her father had been studying the chemical and medicinal properties of a flowering plant newly discovered in the jungles of South America. The associate who requested the study was hoping to develop a potion to assist in calming medical patients during procedures.

  The problems began almost right away in that the usual methods of determining a plant’s active elements proved ineffective. Instead, Charles had to use a method that proved to be rather delicate and volatile. Even then, the result was unstable and difficult to replicate. Eventually, however, he was able to isolate the necessary elements in order to create a potion with the hoped-for sedative properties.

  The following entries noted some successful testing of the potion at significant dilution. Unfortunately, by adjusting the dilution only slightly, the potion became dangerously incapacitating. Charles documented symptoms such as a sort of temporary paralysis in which the mind was aware, though in a state of subtle confusion, while being incapable of directing physical movement. An even stronger solution caused a sort of dreamlike state of hallucinations that left a person utterly unsure of what was real and what wasn’t. And still, the subj
ect would have no physical control of their body.

  Katherine knew her father would have tested the drug on himself and she shuddered to think of him experiencing the side effects he described.

  Reasonably so, Charles was wary of how dangerous the drug could be if used inexpertly or with impure intent. He believed the risks far outweighed the benefits. In his very last entry—dated the day before his death—he noted that he was going to destroy his work at the earliest opportunity and officially recommend that further development of the herb be discontinued.

  Katherine closed the last journal and set it on top of the stack beside her. Rising to her feet, she rolled her head and arched her spine to dispel the tightness that had settled into her muscles. Recently, she’d begun to move her injured arm more and more as the stiffness of keeping it in the sling was getting more annoying than the dull pain that still remained in the joint. She hadn’t worn the sling all day and her injured shoulder only gave a slight twinge of discomfort.

  With a sigh, she crossed to the wide windows that overlooked the back garden. All was in darkness beneath a moonless sky. The sun had set hours ago. She’d barely noticed it. Just as she’d barely noticed the supper that had been brought to her because she hadn’t wanted to take a break from her reading to join Frederick in the dining room.

  Yet even after spending days diligently going over her father’s words, she’d gotten no closer to uncovering anything that might help them. She didn’t even know the name of the associate for whom he’d been running the experiments as Charles never used names in his journals. All she’d managed to do was confirm that the project he had been working on prior to his death had been unsuccessful.

  Whoever had engaged Charles for the project would’ve undoubtedly been upset by the results, but it wasn’t clear if her father’d had a chance to inform them of his conclusions before the fire that took his life. Even if he had and they’d been furious about the failure...there was simply nothing to suggest a connection between Charles’s work and the current threats against Frederick.

  It was frustrating and disheartening and she’d run out of ideas on where else to look. Maybe their cousin was somehow behind it after all. Perhaps Hale’s man would uncover some clue there...either to support or disprove Warfield’s possible involvement.

  She glanced back at the journals strewn across her desk.

  Had she missed something vital? Or had she just wasted several days on a fruitless endeavor?

  Closing her eyes, she twisted and stretched her spine again, triggering a deep growl of hunger in her stomach. Unfortunately, she’d been too focused on her task to eat much of the supper tray that had been taken away some hours ago. Another heavy rumble convinced her she wasn’t likely to get to sleep until her hunger was assuaged.

  After spreading the coals in the grate and blowing out all the candles in her study but one, she took the last with her as she made her way along quiet, darkened hallways to the kitchens at the back of the house.

  It was a testament to her mental exhaustion that she didn’t even the notice the faint light ahead as she approached the kitchen doorway, nor did she register the sound of movement until she crossed the threshold to see Hale’s great form sitting at the kitchen’s tall worktable. He was dressed minimally in breeches and a pale cotton shirt. His hair wasn’t secured in a queue as it usually was but fell to his shoulders in careless waves that appeared burnished by the light of his single candle.

  Casual strength. Earthy masculinity.

  Katherine was so distracted—and honestly, enthralled—by the sight of Hale, it took her a moment to notice he wasn’t alone. Seated atop the table itself, in a white cotton nightgown that floated about her little legs as she swung them over the edge, was a sleepy little Claire.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hale looked up and his intense eyes found hers easily in the wavering darkness. His mouth lifted briefly at the corners before he muttered a simple, “Evenin’.”

  Sparkling heat rushed through her at the deep rumble of his voice. She forced a full breath to steady the riot of nerves his proximity caused before replying with a stilted, “Good evening.”

  The trick never worked as well as she hoped it would. Every time they had to speak over some issue or another regarding Frederick’s security or his requirements of her staff, she experienced the same intense rush of self-awareness, the same leap in mental stimulation and physical sensitivity. The same tingling delight throughout her body. If anything, her reactions grew more intense with each encounter, and tonight, her resources were far too strained and thin for her to properly manage her response.

  Standing in the doorway, like a deer poised for flight at the scent of danger in the wood, she couldn’t stop the way his flashing gaze made her belly tremble or how his twisting half smirk sent an odd jolt through her chest.

  Quickly shifting her attention to the girl beside him, she smiled and added a gentle, “Hello, Miss Claire.”

  She’d visited with the girl several times since her arrival. Often with Frederick and sometimes on her own. It started mainly because she wanted to be sure the child and her nurse had everything they needed since it had been so long since the house had had any children—young or old—within its walls. But Katherine quickly found herself drawn in by the cherubic girl’s shy smile and tentative nature. It was easy to understand how Claire had so easily inspired her brother’s devotion and protective nature. Even after all she’d been through in her very young life, Hale’s daughter was simply too pure for this world. It was undeniably important to Katherine that Claire feel safe and happy in her temporary home, and she personally took on the task of ensuring just that. With each visit, the girl had gotten more generous with her smiles and recently had started showing real excitement whenever Katherine walked into the schoolroom.

  Now, after smiling sweetly in response to Katherine’s greeting, Claire lifted her fists to rub at her eyes. And no wonder...she should have been abed hours ago.

  Katherine glanced to Hale with a questioning look.

  Catching her glance, he looked to his daughter and smoothed a large hand over the girl’s silken curls before looking back to Katherine to mouth the word nightmare.

  She nodded. Of course.

  “Claire and I decided to sneak down to the kitchen for a little midnight treat,” he explained out loud, “didn’t we, sweet pea?”

  The little girl looked up with a smile and nodded enthusiastically, her sleepiness momentarily swept away, “Sweets. Pwease, papa. Sweets.”

  “Only a bit because I promised you. But not too much or you won’t be able to go back to sleep.”

  Claire whimpered softly and reached her hands up to her father. “No sweepy.”

  Hale immediately lifted her up for a strong cuddle as he tucked his face beside hers and murmured low words of comfort. “Don’t be scared, sweet pea. No more bad men, I swear it.”

  Deep and reverent, the tone of his vow went straight to Katherine’s heart.

  After a moment, the girl pulled back enough to take her father’s face in her tiny hands. “Sweets. Pwease.”

  He chuckled warmly and set her back on the table. “A little nibble, then it’s back to bed.”

  Her smile was instant as her feet began to swing excitedly once again.

  Entranced by the gentle interaction between father and daughter, Katherine was caught off guard when the man swung his attention back to her. “Care to join us?”

  The savory scent of roasted meat made her mouth water and her belly rumbled in acceptance. “No, thank you. I don’t wish to intrude.”

  “No intrusion,” he argued as he used his foot to push the stool across from him out from under the rough wooden table. “Have a seat, duchess.”

  The irreverence in his tone and action should have been insulting, especially considering he hadn’t even risen to his feet when she’d entered. But Katherine was growing accustomed to such behavior from him, and she suspected it was mostly employed to get a ris
e out of her. For some reason, the man seemed to enjoy triggering her ire.

  Unfortunately for him, she’d already decided not to be offended by his occasionally loutish behavior. To be honest, a great deal of society’s expected formalities had always seemed pointless to her. Though well-versed in the required deportment of their station, she and Frederick had conducted themselves far more casually while in Lincolnshire. After realizing her initial objections were triggered more by the way he set her off-balance with his boldness than any true aversion to his less refined manner, she saw little reason to enforce more formal etiquette.

  Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t respond to the hint of challenge in his voice.

  Under his watchful gaze and Claire’s furtive glances, she approached the table and set her candle beside his low-burning nub of tallow. The duo of flickering flames cast the three of them in a soft, uncertain light, creating an atmosphere of gentle intimacy.

  In the center of the table was a large platter heaped with cold meats, bread slathered with honey, sliced apple, and what she suspected might be an iced pastry or two from the batch cook had baked for the children that morning.

  “Did you miss your evening meal in the schoolroom?” she asked, aware that he took supper with Claire every night while she and Frederick ate in the dining room.

  “Never,” he replied, then grinned. “But that was hours ago and I’ve a hearty appetite. Still, my eyes might’ve been bigger than my stomach.”

  Katherine flicked a glance at the overfilled platter. “I see that.”

  As she settled onto the wooden stool, Hale reached for one of the pastries. Tearing it in half, he offered one portion to Claire, who took the treat with a coo of delight, before popping the other fully into his mouth.

  Katherine blamed her exhaustion for not realizing she was staring when he lifted a mug and drank healthily of its contents before meeting her gaze over the rim. A flush warmed her at being caught behaving so rudely. But he didn’t seem concerned by her staring. Instead, he scraped his stool back over the stone floor and rose to his feet.