Three and thirty. When had that happened? Truth be told, carrying Fee down the stairs this afternoon hadn’t been as easy as it had been when he’d carried Delmare as a child. And carrying Delmare hadn’t been as easy as carrying Thaddeus when Thaddeus had been a boy. Thaddeus, who was now on the verge of manhood. Why, Thaddeus would be shopping the marriage mart himself soon.
Hideous thought.Competing for a woman’s hand withThaddeus.
“We can’t expect Hurtheven to enter ‘the parson’s trap’ willingly, Ash,” Chev remarked. “This is the man who said every problem comes down to a woman.”
“I say a lot of things,” he replied with a wave of his hand.
But then, remembered the moment. Ash had been forlorn. Despairing, even. Mired in an excess of sentiment brought on by abandoning Alicia. Alarming andcompletelyunnecessary sentiment. The kind of sentiment that broke his third rule.
Closed and coiled, always ready to strike.
“Every problem comes down to a woman.” Ash repeated as he rubbed his chin. His gaze settled on Hurtheven. “Would that be an explanation for subjecting my nursemaid to an interrogation this afternoon?”
After a jolt, he forced himself to swallow—and not spit—the drink he’d just taken.
“She complained, did she?” he asked as lightly as he could.
Ash cocked his head as if he’d heard more than Hurtheven had expressed. “She wouldn’t, of course.Delmarerepeated the conversation.”
Hurtheven could not recall the exact nature of his questions.
All he could distinctly remember was the moment after she’d told him how Fee had executed her escape. The fleeting, thrilling moment of mutual understanding. She’d nearly returned his smile...and then he’d needed to leave the room.Immediately.
“It wasn’t aninterrogation,per se.” Hurtheven shifted in his seat. “Just a few, simple questions.”
“And”—Ash’s brow rose—“were you satisfied with her answers?”
“Quite frankly, no.” Hurtheven sensed Ash’s annoyance spike. Still, he couldn’t let the matter rest. Hehadto know, to understand. “I do not believe she is who she says she is. That gives me pause.”
“Hurtheven”—Ash leaned forward—“do you doubt our commitment to our children?—?”
“Of course not.”
“—Believe we’d place them in harm’s way?” Ash’s facial muscles tightened in an ominous fashion.
Hurtheven answered in a calming tone, “Admittedly, she seems to genuinely care for the children?—”
“That, I assure you, she does.” Ash settled back into his chair.
Ash observed Hurtheven silently, jaw still clenched, though less so. Then, he sighed deeply as he rubbed his brow. “You know I’d trust you with my life...”
“And?” Hurtheven prompted.
“However,” Ash clarified, “Mrs. Montrose is not your concern. She is Alicia’sparticularchoice. A scheme, if you will. A cause...”
Hurtheven’s curiosity further piqued, though he wiped all trace of his interest from his features.
“...For that reason, and this—she is inmyemploy and thereforemyresponsibility—I’ll ask you not to trouble her further.”
“I understand.”
Ash held his gaze over the rim of his glass as he sipped. “Good.”
Ash’s rebuke stung. Still, Hurtheven intended to continue his inquiry, of course. Only with more subtly. He couldn’t dismiss his interest in Mrs. Montrose now even if therealHades—the devil himself—had issued the same warning.
“Now, having settled the matter of the mysterious nursemaid”—Chev’s tone lightened the mood—“might I suggest we return to the matter of Hurtheven’s list?”
Ash downed the rest of his drink. “What an interesting idea.” He sat down his glass. Rising swiftly, he then disappeared behind his desk. “Let’s see what we have here... Ah! Just the thing—graphite and...” He shuffled articles around inside the drawer. “...sheets of paper.”
