The elder man nodded. “You are not to speak a word of this to anyone. I should not even have divulged this much to you. Indeed, I would not have done so had not my conscience weighed upon me so heavily for my part in this disaster.”
“There were ciphers hidden in a locked drawer of my study desk,” he said, the jagged shards of the truth piecing together in his mind. “Someone planted them there. But they were nothing but random letters, no numbers to speak of.”
Sir Robert’s expression was grim. “It is as I feared, then. Kilross created a cipher for Jacinda as a test before sending her here. It was alphabetical, based on one of the old French ciphers no longer in use. I believe the earl has a vendetta against you, Your Grace.”
It would certainly seem so. But why? And how? Crispin did not even know the man. “We are in agreement on that, sir. As to your daughter… I am keeping her confined in her chamber, under guard.”
Red surged to Sir Robert’s pale cheeks. “You are keeping her a prisoner?”
Shame assailed him. How quick he had been to think her false. How easily he had turned his back upon her, so caught up in his own selfish grief. “I shall take you to her, Sir Robert. She is free to leave with you, this very morning should she wish it.”
Damnation, but he hoped like hell she did not wish it. The thought of her leaving Whitley House… leaving him… it left him aching as if his flesh had been torn open by the stab of a bayonet. Furious as he had been over her betrayal, he still had not allowed himself to contemplate the notion of her being anywhere else.
He cleared his throat against the violent surge of emotion threatening to choke him. “Follow me, if you please, sir.”
In uncomfortable silence, he led Sir Robert to the second floor. But when they reached Jacinda’s apartments, the door was ajar, and there was no sentry stationed outside. Heart hammering in his chest, he broke into a run.
Crashing into her chamber, he found the guard sitting on his arse on the floor, rubbing a knot on his head with a wry expression. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but she claimed she saw a rat. When I came inside to have a look, she knocked me over the head with something.”
Jacinda was gone.
Damn it all to hell.
Panic clawing at him, he began a cursory inspection of the room, stopping when he discovered the neatly folded missive on her writing desk bearing his name. He tore it open, the panic growing tenfold as he read the content.
“Where the hell is my daughter, Whitley?” Sir Robert demanded from the threshold.
“She has gone after Kilross herself,” he bit out hoarsely. “We have to find her.”
For if anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.
*
“Mrs. Turnbow.” TheEarl of Kilross rose at her entrance to his study, odious as ever, bearing an expression that was equal parts surprised and smug. He offered her an abbreviated bow. “You have arrived with ample time to spare. I trust you have the ciphers and their translations?”
“Yes,” she said agreeably, fixing her most saccharine smile upon him. An eerie calm settled in her bones. Finding her way to him as a female traveling unaccompanied had been no mean feat. But she made it there, and she knew what she needed to do. “Of course, my lord.”
His smile deepened as he gestured for her to take a seat opposite his desk. “Seat yourself, madam. I expect this accounting shall take some time. Tell me, where did you locate them?”
Jacinda crossed the soft carpet, but instead of taking the chair he had indicated, she remained standing, extracting a packet of letters from a pocket she had sewn into her spencer. “I found the ciphers in His Grace’s desk drawer, tucked between the pages of his journals.”
“This is most excellent,” he said, holding out his hand impatiently. “Deliver them now, Mrs. Turnbow, and I shall return some of your father’s vowels to you in exchange.”
She ought not to be surprised a man who would attempt to incriminate another would also renege upon his promises. Biding her time, she played along, dropping the packet of letters into his hand. “Only some of the vowels, my lord? But you promised all of them would be restored to us. I have found the ciphered missives as you required.”
“So it would seem, but it took you far longer than I anticipated, and I find myself unwilling to part with such a sum so easily.” He paused, his stare dropping to her bosom. “Perhaps, as a widow, there is another means by which you can offer repayment.”
She had an inkling or two of how she might repay the villain, but she had a suspicion it was not anything like what he had in mind. She gritted her teeth. “What I meant to say, my lord, is that I found the missives precisely whereyouleft them.”
He stilled. “My dear Mrs. Turnbow, I cannot fathom what you mean by such a statement.”
“Yes,” she charged, allowing her contempt for him to show at last. “You can, because you are guilty and you know it. You fashioned these supposed ciphers yourself and made certain they were hidden in the duke’s study where I would find them.”
He laughed, but it rang false and hollow. “What a fanciful imagination you have. Would that the Duke of Whitley was the hero everyone hails him as, but the truth is, he is a traitor and he needs to be punished for his sins.”
Her protective streak longed to fly at Kilross and scratch his eyes out for the cavalier manner in which he would condemn Crispin, a kind and good and brave man who had fought nobly for his Crown and country. Who had loved his friend like a brother. Who deserved so much better.
But she forced herself to maintain her poise. “Would you like to know how I am certain you are the author of the ciphered missives, my lord?”
