A Clandestine Affair (Currents of Love Book 5)

by Emilee Harris

  Scanning the documents with care, he noted with relief his friend refrained from going through any great effort to code the list. It simply detailed names or partial names with occasional marks next to them. Here an asterisk, there a number. Thomas remembered seeing some of the same symbols in the journal and could reasonably guess that the symbols indicated where in the journal information about each name might be found, just as Sarah suggested. A slight smile formed on his lips as he recalled her instant understanding. Her sharpness hadn’t even surprised him that time.

  This list effectively combined and clarified the two documents, since the journal purposely avoided names. The knowledge re-invigorated him. Slapping the papers with his palm and smiling, Thomas reached for his breast pocket, losing his jovial status as his hand returned empty. He began patting down his coat and pants pockets with movements akin to frantic desperation. A moment later his arms fell slack at his sides and a humorless, self-loathing laugh welled up in his throat. He forgot to take the journal back from Sarah after allowing her to peruse it. He meant to get it back when he returned her to the house, but his manhandling of her erased it completely from his mind.

  With a defeated groan, he braced his arms against the table and hung his head. Perfect, he thought, and I had it in my head I might actually be capable.

  He shook his head at his own foolishness. The meetings with Sarah were dangerous enough, and last night’s antics went far beyond any reasonable risk. Now his lack of thinking necessitated he tempt fate again. He must reference that journal for things to make sense. But going back, especially now that he’d so thoroughly injured his one ally, took on the ominous mantle of the final straw, the act that would see his luck run out.

  Pounding a fist down on the table, he growled at his own ineptitude and turned from the list of names now taunting him. He never should have started on this route. He’d considered turning himself in to Addington, hoping he might stand a chance of the man believing him. He held on to that thought even when he found himself hiding like a thief in Eric’s study. But then everything changed. He developed this idiotic thought he might be able to ferret out the true culprit. All because one girl with bluebell eyes intimated he was worth something, he’d begun to do away with a lifetime of proof to the contrary.

  Frustration built, and with difficulty he restrained himself from snatching up the list and tearing it to pieces. Instead, he looked about the room, his eyes settling on an empty bottle on the counter. Stomping over to it, he grabbed it and flung it at the wall, watching it shatter to pieces and crumble to the floor.

  Sarah raced down the hall in a near panic on her way to the stairs. She’d overslept by quite a long time and was surprised no one had been in yet to wake her. Sprinting in an unseemly manner fit to make her mother cringe, she could blame only a portion of her shortness of breath on her agitation and hurry.

  After Thomas left and she gave in to tears, exhaustion weighed down on her and she felt sure she would fall instantly asleep. Yet, as she stared at the canopy above her bed, her cruel mind insisted upon replaying those wondrous sensations of their kiss.

  It was a dream she’d long fantasized about but her poor senses, having nothing else to compare the event to, came up significantly lacking. The reality proved so much more wondrous than anything she’d imagined. She had no idea that such a simple thing as a kiss could ignite such a riot of fluttering nerves and electric sparks along her limbs, centering around her heart and in her belly. The mere thought brought all her senses to full wakefulness again, despite her fatigue.

  Try as she might, she failed every attempt to force herself to sleep, and eventually succumbed only as a consequence of sheer exhaustion after spending untold hours tossing and turning. Even then, the sensory oblivion of her sleep did not offer her a significant reprieve. Her dreams, such as they were, followed the course of her earlier tortured thoughts and musings. Not only that, but her subconscious brought back and replayed the feeling of Thomas’ hand as it traversed her leg, an event her innocent waking mind had been too embarrassed to comprehend, consider, or acknowledge. That hand, strong and steady, so gentle as it tested the shape of her ankle, the curve of her calf, and seared into the side of her thigh.

  Sarah stumbled on the steps and caught at the banister. Pausing her flight, she took a breath and let it out slowly. Cheeks flaming, she had no desire to enter the breakfast room in such a state. Gripping the banister, she held up her head and took the final steps of the stairs with purpose, calling to mind every etiquette lesson she’d ever been forced to endure. She then mandated a steady pace toward the dining room despite every insistence by her body and limbs to continue running. Whether running to something or from something, she preferred not to contemplate, or perhaps it was merely her body’s need to expend some of this restless energy the night before ignited in her.

  “There you are, my dear,” Aunt Mabel’s voice greeted her as she crossed the threshold. Sarah studied her reflection in the mirror off to the side of the buffet, noting the still heightened color in her cheeks, but assuring herself that though Aunt Mabel recognized her presence, she was still too far away for the elderly woman to be able to comprehend her state of distress.

  Indeed, given the near blindness of the poor woman, she likely would not notice even if Sarah were sitting right beside her. As she presently would be.

  “I was beginning to worry about you. Another few minutes and I would have sent someone up to look after you. You’re not unwell I hope?”

  “No, Aunt Mabel, I’m quite well,” Sarah assured her hostess. “I’m afraid I didn’t sleep all that well for some reason and that caused me to oversleep. I’m terribly sorry.”

  “No need for that, dear,” Mabel reached out to pat Sarah’s hand as she took the seat next to her. “It happens to all of us on occasion,” she smiled. “And a bit more as we age.”

  “I hope you enjoyed a good breakfast?” Sarah asked.

  “Mostly tolerable, yes, but I think you weren’t the only one to pass an upsetting evening.”

  “Oh?” Sarah wondered aloud, her thoughts landing on Thomas and wondering if his aunt knew of his visits.

  “Yes, we’ve already entertained a visitor this morning. Very unfashionably early too.”

  Sarah blinked. “A visitor? That is strange,” she remarked. “Who was it?”

  “Oddly enough, it was Lord Addington, from the agency Thomas works for.”

  Sarah restrained the hand which instinctively attempted to rise to clutch at her chest, clamping her mouth shut and turning her full attention on the elderly woman.

  “He was asking about Thomas, though I can’t imagine why. He must know as well as anyone that Thomas isn’t here.”

  Sarah’s heart increased its pace. “Yes, he must,” she stammered. “Did he say anything else?”

  “No, I tell you, he seemed distinctly agitated, and he left almost immediately after interrupting my morning. Goodness,” Aunt Mabel began to tsk and shake her head. “People these days. You would think he would know better. He hasn’t come by this house in ages, and then waltzes right in as though he owns the place.”

  Sarah struggled to remain seated, her anxious energy resurfacing and tempting her to begin pacing the room. Her mind whirled with doubt, wondering if Lord Addington knew of Thomas’ visits and what his stance on Thomas’ guilt or innocence might be. Only a faint thread of propriety and the continuing drone of Mabel’s voice kept her in place.

  “It’s a shame too, a terrible reflection on his mother. I knew the woman you know, an exceedingly kind lady. And she went through quite a bit to ensure his proper upbringing. She would never have consented to or approved of his making a call so early.”

  Sarah nodded silently, breakfast forgotten and wishing she could return to her room to think. Aunt Mabel paused long enough to catch Sarah’s attention, and when she looked over, the older woman’s eyes focused into the distance and her head tilted. She’d obviously landed upon some memory.

&n
bsp; “His mother,” Mabel continued at length, “She was a good woman you know, and it always pained me to see how poorly her husband and, later in life, her son, treated her.”

  “Oh?” Mabel’s tone had taken on a saddened lilt which touched Sarah’s curiosity and dimmed her desire to quit the room.

  “Yes, she was from fine stock, but poor timing, I think, caused her misfortune. Her husband had a time of finding a bride here, he decided none of the girls on offer met his requirements, so he traveled to France thinking he would test the European stock. I imagine he cut a good agreement with her father, though I couldn’t tell you what it was. There was never any love between them, more’s the pity. She really did deserve better.

  “But then when all that mess with the terror began and everyone was leaving France, wouldn’t you know the poor girl lost everything. And I believe her husband held it against her. He decided he’d been cheated out of whatever it was he thought he’d gained in their marriage and blamed her for the rest of her life. By that time, the current Lord Addington was a small boy just coming into a sense of the wider world and quite impressionable. I don’t doubt that’s the reason for his poor behavior now. Do you know, her husband forced her to change her name to sound more English? He set her to work day and night with enunciation tutors to eliminate her accent. He also forbade her to speak French in the house or to their son. The poor girl would visit from time to time and fall into tears for the harshness of it. Apparently, her son took up the habits of her husband.”

  Aunt Mable sniffed her distaste, resting in her speech long enough to reach for her teacup and take a small sip. Sarah hoped the woman might have come to the end of her rambling and opened her mouth to excuse herself from the table, but Mabel took up again before she had the chance.

  “Such a shame too,” Mabel muttered, “she came from a reputable line and a beautiful name as well, it rolled so favorably off the tongue.” Mabel paused and pursed her lips, searching her memory. “De Beaufremont was the title, but it was the given name I thought interesting… Arseneau! That was it.” Nodding to herself with a smile, Mabel reached again for her teacup.

  Sarah nearly choked on her tea. “Arseneau?” She managed in between small coughs poorly concealed by her napkin.

  “Yes,” Aunt Mabel confirmed. “Goodness, dear, are you all right?” she squinted in Sarah’s direction despite being seated directly next to her.

  Sarah blinked and swallowed, her mind racing as she struggled to remind herself of the current conversation and the correct response. “Yes, aunt, I took too quick a sip of my tea.”

  “Ah,” Mabel’s brow softened, and she nodded, patting Sarah’s hand. “Well then, my dear, if you are sound and not opposed to a bit of solitude, I think I shall rest a bit. “What have you planned today?”

  “I…” She wrestled her thoughts away from the journal still tucked away in her desk upstairs. “I should spend some time writing my family. I promised them I would send regular letters while I was here, and I’m afraid I have been having such a wonderful time in your company, I’ve quite neglected that duty.”

  “Oh dear,” Aunt Mabel laughed as she began to rise from her seat, leaning heavily on the tabletop for support. “Yes, please do see to that. I won’t have your family thinking I’m a regrettable influence on you. We must keep up etiquette and appearances after all.”

  Sarah nodded as Aunt Mabel signaled to her maid, who sat with a basket of sewing in the corner. The woman approached her side and began to help her across the room.

  “Very well then, my dear. I will wish you well until later today. I’ll come down for tea, and I’m looking forward to hearing another chapter of that book tonight. Oh, it’s also such a lovely day out. I thought perhaps we might go for a carriage ride around the park. What do you think?”

  Sarah blinked up at Aunt Mabel, fighting to keep still at the table instead of jumping up and rushing back to her room. “Yes, that sounds wonderful. I’ll be ready to go out after your rest.”

  Aunt Mabel sent a parting smile, then gave her full attention to her maid and the task of transferring herself from one room to another.

  Sarah glanced down at the plate in front of her, her breakfast barely touched, and scooted her chair back from the table. Waiting just long enough that she could be reasonably assured of not overtaking Aunt Mabel on the stairs, she hurried to make her own exit and all but flew up to her room.

  Chapter 11

  Fingers trembling, Sarah rifled through a small purse she kept in a drawer of her armoire. Frustrated, she overturned the purse on a shelf, the contents clanging against the wood and a few items falling to the ground unheeded. The small, tarnished key thudded against the shelf, and she snatched it up, tossing the purse into the fray to be dealt with later. Turning her back on the armoire, she hurried to the writing desk and attempted to insert the key into its housing in a side drawer. Her nerves delayed the process, forcing her to take in a deep breath and concentrate on the task. She kept the drawer locked since Thomas shared the journal with her.

  The journal he neglected to take back. Or perhaps, he no longer needed it. That’s what she told herself earlier that morning on remembering about the book. If he returned, she had no idea how to face him. Shutting her eyes against the worry constricting her lungs and threatening to send tremors through her limbs, she gritted her teeth and set her shoulders. None of that mattered. Aunt Mabel’s words had sparked an eerie suspicion in the back of her mind which needed addressing.

  The instant the latch clicked open on the drawer, she tugged it open, shoving her hand into the space. Papers and writing implements began to fly as she tossed them aside in her search, knowing the small leather tome lay carefully concealed in the farthest recess of the drawer. A moment later her searching fingers closed about the spine, pulling it from its hiding place. Sitting in the chair, she let the book fall open and began flicking through pages, shoulders hunched and eyes skimming.

  After agonizing seconds of an uneventful search which wore on interminably, she began to despair of her memory, wondering if it had just been a coincidence that the name Aunt Mabel mentioned seemed so familiar somehow, but then her eyes fell upon it. Not the name exactly, but a passage she remembered thinking unique in its description. It followed on from the one which had indicated the hiding place for the list of names.

  “With loving care, she builds her arsenal, leaving once glinting silver to tarnish.” Sarah muttered, leaning back in her chair and catching her lower lip between her teeth. Both the words mother and arsenal had been marked with a small flag beside them resembling that which occurs when a pen is too hastily pulled from its path on parchment.

  Several words throughout the passages boasted similar marks or had been otherwise highlighted, and she recalled initially thinking this Cartwright fellow must be a haphazard writer indeed.

  Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears as she sank back against the chair, bringing one arm to drape across her middle and propping the opposite elbow on her hand to better facilitate chewing on her nails. A crease formed between her brows as she furrowed them to study the open journal in front of her. Surely the similarity between the words from the journal and those of Aunt Mable hinted at more than mere coincidence.

  Jumping to her feet, she began to pace the room, alternately wringing her hands, then bringing her palms to her cheeks in an attempt to cool them, and even being tempted to rake her fingers through her hair. Something wasn’t right. Exactly what evaded her, but she knew she had to find a way to tell Thomas this new piece of information. Her own humiliation at his callous treatment would have to wait.

  Her gaze drifted to the window, and she found herself wandering in that direction. Staring out over the rooftops, she glanced up and down the alleyway. A flicker of hope blossomed in her chest which had nothing to do with the journal or her suspicions. She turned from the window as a new surge of anger rose up against her own foolishness. Shaking her head, she returned to the desk, gripping the back of the cha
ir and staring down at the journal.

  She was allowing her imagination to get the better of her. No possible connection could exist between Lord Addington and this turncoat Mr. Cartwright was after. For goodness’ sake, Lord Addington ran the largest security office in England!

  “Absurd,” she mumbled to herself, bringing her hands up to cover her face. How she wished Thomas were there, and they hadn’t made such a royal mess of things. He could tell her in an instant if her suspicions held merit or not. Perhaps the mark beside the word arsenal held some other significance. “It’s impossible,” she whispered, unsure whether her words referenced her desire to speak freely with Thomas as she’d been able to in recent days, or the potential connection between Lord Addington and Mr. Cartwright’s observations.

  “What’s impossible?”

  Sarah had been so absorbed in her musings she’d barely taken note of her surroundings, so the sounding of a male voice just over her shoulder shocked her, her mind registering the familiarity of it a moment too late as she jumped and sucked in a breath to scream. No sound louder than a smothered squeal escaped her throat, however, as a warm hand clamped about her mouth and a steely arm wrapped vice-like around her torso, trapping the air in her lungs.

  “Forgive me,” Thomas whispered into Sarah’s ear. “But I can’t have you shouting in the broad daylight. You’ll bring the entire house running.”