Phoebe still hesitated before sitting, taking in the surrounding gardens. If Lady Bolingbroke happened upon them, she would spout propriety because Phoebe was unchaperoned. But Phoebe spotted the gardener trimming the evergreen hedges nearer to the manor, only fifteen feet away. A groom eyed them from the end of the gardens closer to the stables. He held the reins of a bay courser, possibly waiting on Slade.
A brief conversation with an old friend in daylight while two others were nearby wouldn’t buck propriety. Would it?
CHAPTER 5
Before Phoebe moved to sit on the chair, she spotted her discarded gossip column half hidden under the rhododendron. She picked it up, then took a seat. Slade sat to her right. She shifted to face him. His tall, broad-shouldered torso was imposing, causing her to swallow hard as her eyes rose to meet his sharp emerald ones.
“Egan is busy learning the Eileanach business. He will eventually take over the running of things. Father and Mother are not fond of the fact that I am in England. They’d much rather I take a husband and settle down in the Highlands, preferably close to Eileanach Castle where they can lord over my life,” she said.
The corners of Slade’s lip twitched up, in what seemed like mirth and silent understanding. “Now I start to see why you are here. Perhaps your parents’ reach to lording over your life, as you put it, doesn’t extend to Sutton Coldfield.”
A laugh left Phoebe’s mouth, lightening her insides. “Yes. That certainly is an added attraction to my being here,” she said.
Her posture relaxed. Perhaps that old rapport was returning after all.
“And how is your family?” she said.
A shadow crossed his fine features. Phoebe sensed Slade’s hesitation in answering her question. He didn’t get along with his father, Chisolm, or brother, Lachlan and because of that Slade had revealed years ago he’d never gotten use to calling Chisolm “father.” His mother had died when Slade was a wee lad, but Phoebe never had the courage to ask what had happened.
Weariness flickered in Slade’s eyes. “They are doing well enough, from what Lachlan reports in his missives to me. Both Chisolm and Lachlan are demanding I return to Garraidh Castle. But that’s not so easy when one holds a commission in the Royal Scots Greys,” he said.
“Is that why you are at the general’s residence? Military business?” Phoebe asked, but then regret contracted her midriff. She was fishing for information on Bolingbroke, and she hated it had to be done through Slade.
His green eyes sharpened at her question. She imagined the resulting flutter in her belly was what a butterfly felt like under the inspecting gaze of a natural philosopher. Slade had never provoked this response from her before. But then again, she’d never worked as a spy while in his presence before, either.
She affected an air of insouciance she didn’t feel.
“I am attempting to arrange an arms contract betwixt the general and Hortons,” he said.
Was this one of the unsanctioned businesses the general was involved in? An arms contract didn’t sound illegal unless the general was using military funds to buy personal weapons. Or using such weapons for unavowed attacks against the rebels. But surely Slade wouldn’t be a part of that, would he?
Phoebe tilted her head, questioningly. “Hortons?”
“They’re a gunsmith company out of Birmingham, in which I hold an ownership stake,” he said.
It appeared Slade was involved in business ventures outside of the Royal Scots Greys and Garraidh Castle, his family seat.
“I assume as a general, Bolingbroke is authorized to enter into arms contracts on behalf of the English military?” Phoebe asked, aware that her question was probing. But she’d had to ask the question.Trust your instincts, Falcon had said.
Slade sent her one of those piercing gazes of his.
“At present, the general’s interest is purely personal,” he said.
At least he’d answered her question and not given her any of that male superiority nonsense about her questions being unsuitable for a gently bred young woman. Her eyes took in his expression as it changed. His sleek, well-formed brows climbed. A frown line formed between them, and his nostrils flared slightly at the end of a long, well-shaped nose. “Your interest in my dealings with the general is as puzzling to me as when Britain decided to form an alliance with Russia.”
Phoebe lowered her gaze, tapping her chin with her pointing finger.Blast!She feigned a rueful look. “Apparently, my attempts at polite conversations were not entirely polite. I beg your pardon.”
His slow smile and study of her features were more than she was comfortable with. “The last time you were this evasive was when I caught you and Alex all those years ago stealing the bull instead of the heifer to teach yourselves how to milk the animal,” he said, with a chuckle.
A sharp pang constricted her chest at mention of Alex. Yet, recalling the bull incident from when she was nine years old pulled a soft chuckle from her throat. Especially recalling that silly rhyme Alex used to hum when in a particularly devious mood.Queen, Queen Caroline washed her hair in turpentine, turpentine to make it shine. Queen, Queen Caroline.
That weekend, fifteen years ago, Egan and Slade were at Eileanach Castle, on a break from fostering. And she and Alex had been wagering sugar cakes on who would be faster at milking the animal when Slade had caught them sneaking around behind the keep.
“Imagine our surprise when we attempted to milk the bull and realized the animal’s body parts weren’t quite right,” she said.
But despite her light tone, her gaze faltered, recalling her brother’s ruddy little face. After all these years, she still missed him fiercely.
“I shouldn’t have mentioned Alex,” he said, his tone faint and regretful.
