“If he had wanted me dead, I would be.” She peered at the man, studying him closely. The way his head sagged forward, the tensed gauntness of his features. His breathing was ragged, and his coloring had gone an unhealthy gray. She pushed around Nash, grabbed Mr. Bainery by the chin, and forced him to look up at her. “What did you take? What poison did you take?”
“Canny girl. Just like your mother. When he gave me the orders, I said you would sort it.” His smirk twitched, pulling to one side in an unnaturally taut line. With a sickening gurgle deep in his throat, he stretched back and jerked as though fighting an unseen rope that was trying to separate his head from his neck. After a hard shudder, he slumped over and went as limp as a wet rag.
Nash tried to shield Sophie, but she pulled out of his arms and focused on the old man who had once been her friend. “Mr. Bainery was a master of poisons,” she whispered. “He once told me he had often envisioned himself dying by his own craft.” An icy shiver stole across her. “Poor man.”
“Poor man?” Nash growled, sounding ready to spit. “He tried to kill you.”
“Not really. He protected me as much as he could.” Sophie understood now, and the knowledge cast an eerie chill across her. “This is some twisted game, and this sorry old soul got caught up in it somehow.”
“He is free now,” her mother said in a wistful tone. “May he rest in peace.”
Chapter Ten
“You cannot travelto Calais alone,” Sophie told her mother. “Safety in numbers, remember? How many times have you told me we must never travel alone?”
“I am going. With my maid and an armed footman, I shall be quite safe. I am not helpless nor without my own resources.” The dowager squared her narrow shoulders. Self-assuredness streamed from her like rays of light. “You forget who I am, my child.”
Nash caught hold of Merritt’s arm and stopped him before the fool waded into the treacherous waters of two women in the middle of a disagreement. “Let them sort it,” he advised in a low voice. The lovely ladies had taught him that lesson well.
“Lady Sophie is right,” Merritt said too loudly for his own good. He kept his gaze locked on the dowager countess. “Lady Nia cannot travel to France with merely a footman and a maid. Not under the present circumstances.”
Both women turned and glared at him.
“You are a dead man,” Nash murmured before stepping forward to sacrifice himself in his friend’s stead. “If anything were to happen to you, dear mother-in-law, I should never forgive myself. Why this sudden need to return to Calais? You said yourself the academy was under the exemplary care of some of your former star pupils.”
The woman eyed him as if sighting a pistol for the killing shot. “It is best I return to Calais for several reasons. Sophie will be safe here with you, allowing me to approach this dilemma from another angle.”
“What angle?” He studied her. Something uneasy brewed in the lady’s amber eyes, and it was not merely concern for her daughter’s safety. No, it was more than that, but he couldn’t fathom what. He had always been somewhat awestruck by the powerful woman, and the more he was around her, the more enigmatic she seemed—like a mighty goddess he dared not question. But he would question her for his beloved Sophie’s sake. “What angle, my lady?”
The dowager ignored him. Instead, she turned back to her daughter. “I understand what I am doing. You must trust me.”
“We are in full mourning, Maman,” Sophie countered with a haughty tilt of her chin. “You should not be traveling. It is not proper.”
“I have been in full mourning since your papa’s murder. Do not lecture me on the appropriate behavior while grieving a loved one.” Not sparing any of them another look, she haughtily swept from the room and stormed up the stairs.
Sophie stared after her, looking so lost and forlorn that Nash’s heart ached for his precious wife.
He went to her, took her hand, and pressed a kiss to it, pleased she had honored his request to remain gloveless unless they were entertaining or out for the day. The satin of her skin, even the simple innocence of her bare hand, beguiled him. He couldn’t get enough of touching her. He kissed the backs of her fingers again. “We will convince her to stay, my swan. Somehow.”
“If need be, I will follow and keep her safe,” Merritt said a little too strong for one merely determined to protect a lady.
Nash turned to his friend and found himself unable to keep from smiling. “You have fallen under her spell.”
Merritt glared at him but didn’t protest or deny the observation.
“If you truly care for her, then go upstairs and talk some sense into her,” Sophie told him. “Be firm and do not take no for an answer.”
“Does she keep weapons in her rooms?” Merritt asked with uncharacteristic leeriness.
“Of course. Any table with a drawer has a pistol in it. As long as you keep her away from drawers, you should be safe enough.”
He arched a brow, rolled his shoulders as though flexing for a fight, then strode out of the room.
“You have just sent my most trusted friend to his death,” Nash said, only partially in jest. He had never seen Merritt so taken with a woman before. He feared it would dull the man’s sense of self-preservation.
“The only way Maman will hurt him is by refusing his attentions.” Still staring after Merritt, she slowly shook her head. “She has toyed with men over the years. Out of boredom, I suppose, or what she always calledkeeping her skills sharp.But I have yet to witness her allowing another into her heart. She once told me that the pain of Papa’s loss never eased, and at times was almost more than she could bear.” A hitching sigh escaped her as she pressed a hand to her throat. “I cannot count the many times she told me I was her only reason for living on.”
“It sounds as though your mother loves hard and with all her being.”
