As he entered the dimly lit mews behind the townhouse, he halted, then backed up a few steps, pressing against the wall surrounding Rydleshire House’s sizeable garden. Silent as death, he peered around the corner. A tall figure slowly moved in the deep shadows along the garden wall. Every few steps, the individual would bend and touch the ground as though in search of a fallen object.
Nash eased around the corner and followed, determined to catch the trespasser before they even realized he was there. Whoever it was had a great deal of answering to do. Before the sneak thief turned, he immobilized the fiend with onearm around the man’s throat, and the other locked around his shoulder. “What the blazes do you think you are doing here?”
“Sir Nash!” Thornton sputtered. “It is I!”
“Bloody hell, Thornton!” Nash released the butler immediately. “Why the devil are you out here?”
“Because I would trust no one else with the task of trying to discover who harmed Lady Sophie.” Thornton tugged his coat back into place, then straightened and squared his shoulders. “All the staff are quite concerned for our lady, but none have been with her and Lady Rydleshire as long as myself and my wife. Our footmen are ample but young and sometimes scattered. They might have missed something earlier when sent out here by her ladyship.”
Nash studied the older man, sensing nothing but a deeply ingrained sense of loyalty and true concern for the mistresses of the house. “And did you find anything else that might be useful in identifying the intruder?”
The man snorted with disgust. “Sadly, no, sir, and I fear that the footmen stomping around muddled any possibility of unique footprints.”
Nash turned and eyed the wall. Even in the darkness, he could discern it would be difficult to scale.
“The hawthorns, sir,” Thornton said before Nash asked him his opinion. He pointed at a section of hawthorn trees that exceeded the height of the wall. “It would not be an easy climb due to the thorns, but if the person were determined, they would manage it.”
“Cut them down. All of them.” Nash stepped back from the wall to get a better view of its entire expanse. “Once the sun rises, I shall examine the barrier for further weaknesses.”
“Yes, sir. I shall inform the gardener to have the trees removed by dawn.” The butler tipped his head in a polite nod. “Is there any other way I can be of service, sir?”
“Yes.” Still peering at the garden wall and scanning the entirety of the mews, Nash decided not to wait until tomorrow to contact Wethersby. “Send your most trusted andleast scatteredfootman to Bow Street. Have him ask for Mr. Merritt Wethersby and request him to come immediately. Give him my name.”
“Yes, sir.” Thornton bowed and hurried away.
Nash moved closer to the cluster of hawthorns, but in the poor light, there was little he could make out other than a few smaller branches that drooped as though broken. The butler was right—the bold blackmailer had climbed the thorny tree and probably stayed in the safety of its branches until the deed was done. Well, there was nothing more to be done here. Time to get back to his Sophie.
He tried the gardener’s gate at the back of the property and found it locked. At least they’d had the foresight to secure the only other entry into the garden. He continued around the house, hurried up the front steps, and discovered himself locked out. Before he had the opportunity to pound on the door, Thornton swung it open.
“Do forgive me, sir, but I believed you would wish it locked now that all the guests have gone home.”
“Quite right, Thornton. Notify me when Wethersby arrives.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nash took the stairs two at a time, charged down the hall, and shot through the sitting room as if storming an enemy’s stronghold. But when he came to the bedroom door, he gingerly eased it open.
Lady Rydleshire looked his way, then silently rose and met him at the door. “She has not stirred so much as an eyelash.”
“Good.” He went to the bedside and stared down at the amazing woman he had once been foolish enough to think of as an annoyance. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her steady breathing, finding it somewhat eased the worries of his heart.
“I shall be in the sitting room,” the dowager countess said. “Call out if you should need me.”
“My lady—”
“Yes?”
“I intend to make her happy.” He gently tidied the blankets across his sleeping swan even though they were still quite straight.
“See that you do.” Lady Rydleshire slipped out the door and closed it quietly behind her.
He settled into the chair, moving it closer so he could rest his folded arms on the bed and lay his head beside Sophie. He breathed her in, finding her scent immeasurably soothing.
“You would be much more comfortable here in the bed,” she said so softly that he lifted his head and stared at her. The candle on the nightstand bathed her in an ethereal golden glow, making her seem more spirit than flesh.
“Sophie?”
She didn’t open her eyes but shifted with a deep breath that caused her to flinch. “Several years ago, I suffered an injury that revealed I have a high tolerance for laudanum and such. Those medicines affect me, but not nearly as strongly or for as long as they affect most.”
