“Then you worked for Sir Randall Ferguson?”
“For fifteen years, sir.”
He offered no introduction, perhaps because he had no desire to watch the elderly woman fumble. “Then you know his sister, Lady Mayberry.”
“Sadly, she passed twelve months ago, from consumption.”
Lord Rothley looked faintly satisfied. “Yes. Sir Randall kept her wolfhound. What the devil was the beast called?”
“Kaiser, sir.”
“Kaiser, yes.” He turned to Olivia. “Do you have all your belongings, Miss Woolf? Would you care for one last look around the house?”
“No. I have everything.” She pressed the key into Mrs Hodge’s hand. A sudden faintness swept over her, whether from the year’s strain or the daunting task ahead, she could not say.
“Do you have a forwarding address, Miss Woolf? Just in case any correspondence arrives for you.”
“You may forward it to Burkes Bookshop on Aylesbury Street, Clerkenwell. The proprietor is a friend and knows how to reach me.”
Lord Rothley cast her a pointed glance but held his tongue.
“Well, good luck to you, dear. The road here is lonely at night, and living beside a graveyard unsettles most folk. I’ll pray your aunt makes a quick recovery.”
Mrs Hodge bid them good day and returned to her cottage.
Once she was out of earshot, Lord Rothley said, “I cannot decide whether to applaud your talent for lying or be troubled by it.”
“It’s not difficult to lie, my lord, when lives hang in the balance.” And the less Mrs Hodge knew, the safer they’d allbe. “Do you think we should have told her about the beast in the mask? After all, she lives out here alone. He may return, seeking answers.”
“I’ll have one of Daventry’s agents keep watch for a few days. If the villain is still hunting you, we’ll know.”
Her pursuer was relentless, intent on recovering the item her father had stolen, whatever the cost.
“He could be watching us now.” She kept her gaze fixed on the man who was afraid of nothing but his memories. “What if he’s waiting for the right moment to strike?”
“Trust me, Miss Woolf. He’ll not harm you again.”
She wanted to believe him. His words rang with conviction. Men feared him, and he seemed not to care if he lived or died. Strength like that might become a refuge, and that frightened her more than the man in the mask.
A marriage of friendship was an attractive prospect. Yet why would he sacrifice the chance of finding love? And what right had she, a woman cloaked in lies, to even wonder?
The question lingered, leaving her head spinning. Shadows gathered at the edges of her vision as her world began to slip away. She tried to draw breath and resist the darkness, but her strength failed. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed into Lord Rothley’s arms.
Chapter Six
“For heaven’s sake, Gentry, I hear you. But Miss Woolf has barely opened her eyes in two days. It isn’t natural.” Gabriel pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, but it did little to ease the tightness behind his eyes. Patience had never been his virtue. “There must be more to it than exhaustion.”
Gentry glanced at Miss Woolf sleeping peacefully in the poster bed, surrounded by plumped pillows and images of blasted peacocks. The faint aroma of herbs lingered in the still air. “You’d be surprised how often I’ve seen this. A problem builds, the mind won’t rest, and the body gives out. She needs sleep more than medicine.”
“What about the mausoleum? She breathed in the rot when I opened the coffin.” Dust and a sour damp had risen as the lid shifted, clinging to their throats. They were so intent on recovering the valise that neither had shielded their mouths. “Or will you tell me miasma doesn’t cause disease?”
Gentry put a reassuring hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “You were only there a few minutes, though I wish to God you’dtell me why. And you said Miss Woolf felt unwell before she entered the crypt.”
“She complained of being hot, and she seemed unsteady.” Anger rose in him like an unstoppable tide. She would not be in this state if she’d accepted his help sooner. He had offered countless times. And what was in that damnable valise? He’d give his right hand to know. “I suspect the long ride from World’s End didn’t help.”
In the silence that followed, Gentry merely arched a brow.
“What?” Gabriel pressed. The man observed him as if he were a patient in need of dosing. His friends Dalton and Rutland would doubtless share the same concerns, which was precisely why he hadn’t told them, either. “I’ve broad shoulders, and we’ve been friends for over a decade. Speak your mind.”
