“Yes. I told her after I came back inside.”
“She seems very loyal to you.”
“Yes. She is. And I do consider her a friend. She’s the only one—” Charlotte paused. She was getting ready to reveal more of her life to him. How easy it was to fall back into that place where there were no secrets, no boundaries. “Sutcliffe has stood by my side through this entire ordeal. She’s very trustworthy.”
His voice lowered further, and his gaze was uncomfortably direct. “And does she know about me? About our history?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. She became my maid two days before I married Roland. She has only ever known me as Mrs.Prior. She knows very little of my life before that.”
Charlotte said nothing else and looked back down to the courtyard. Sutcliffe was walking back toward the house with slow, reluctant steps. Charlotte reached for Henry, seeking a change of topic. “He’s tired. I should put him to bed.”
Anthony bounced the boy playfully before he handed him back to her. “I’ll leave you to it, then, but one of us will have an eye on this chamber door, and the other will be watching the grounds.”
His gaze locked with hers, intentionally, if not flirtatiously. The blueness of his eyes jolted her as they had when she was young, and that giddy, girlish feeling flared unexpectedly. And for the first time since returning to Hollythorne House, she did not want to squelch it. In fact, she could not deny it: She wanted him to stay. She yearned for it.
But as he turned toward the door and exited the room, she reminded herself of all that was at stake and the seriousness of the threat they’d received. It would not do to take her eyes off her goal now. Her heart and personal desires should be the least of her concerns. Right now, Henry’s safety was all that mattered. Theremight be time to allow her mind to engage in dreams at a later date, but for now she had to remain steadfast.
***
Anthony would have to face the situation sooner or later.
Theoretically, he owed Timmons no explanation, but they’d experienced the worst aspects of humanity together—war. Injury. Crime. What was more, they trusted each other. Therefore, the respect between them required Anthony to address what Timmons had witnessed. So with a lantern in hand, Anthony sought Timmons out as the man sat on his horse at the perimeter.
Even in the darkness Timmons’s expression was sober. Any trace of his good-natured humor had fled. Anthony was not entirely surprised, for his friend had been displaying a somber countenance as of late. Only this time, his censure and disapproval were leveled at Anthony.
Timmons slid from his horse’s back and spoke first. “That was a rather interestin’ sight to walk into t’ stable and see. My friend, a confirmed bachelor, wooin’ a woman. And not just any woman but our very recently widowed client.”
Initially Anthony said nothing in response and fell into step next to Timmons as they walked toward the stable. He’d learned a long time ago that it was best to gather all the facts and find out what the suspect knew before speaking, because many times people wanted to say their piece. He suspected that, in this instance, Timmons was no different.
After several moments Timmons scoffed and stopped abruptly,turning to face Anthony directly. “T’ oddest thing ’appened earlier, before I sought ye in t’ stables. Mrs. Prior was lookin’ for ye, and she called yeAnthony. No one ever calls ye that. Now, why would a well-bred woman such as Mrs.Prior address ye as such? Normally, I’d figure it a mistake. A slip of t’ tongue or t’ like. Then I started to put things together. Ye used to live ’ere. Her family’s owned this property for who knows ’ow long.”
Anthony looked past Timmons into the murky night, taking in his friend’s argument and wishing he didn’t have to respond.
Timmons tilted his head to the side. “’Tis funny, ’ow friendships go. We’ve seen each other on our deathbeds. We’ve chased criminals and fought side by side. I know what brandy ye take and what weapons ye prefer, but at t’ end of t’ day, I know nothin’ about ye. Not really.”
Anthony inhaled the moor’s mossy scent as he considered his options. Timmons had put the pieces together, and Anthony was faced with a decision: He could deny it. Or he could tell the truth.
“I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’ ’tis none o’ me business. But ye made it me business when ye brought your secrets into an assignment that we’re workin’ on together, makin’ me the fool.”
Timmons adjusted his stance, leaned closer, and lowered his voice. “I see you’re goin’ to be quiet on the matter, so I’ll tell ye what I think. Ye know this family and did long before we came out ’ere. Ye know’er.”
Anthony considered each word carefully. “Yes, I know Charlotte Prior, only I knew her as Charlotte Grey. And I knew her very well.”
Timmons muttered a slew of curses as he resumed lumbering toward the outbuildings. “Does Walstead know?”
“No one knows. Except now you, of course.”
Timmons stopped again, suddenly, and pivoted to face Anthony, an incredulous expression beclouding his features. “Ye lied to Mr.Walstead?”
Anthony nodded. “At the time it didn’t seem important.”
Timmons’s sudden sarcastic laughter bellowed. “Mr.Walstead will find out. And when ’e does, ’e’ll assume I knew, too, and did not tell ’im.”
“He won’t find out.”
“Why?”Timmons flung his hand out in frustration. “Because ye excel at concealin’ truths? If ye believe that, then I suggest ye and Mrs.Prior avoid whisperin’ alone in darkened stables and avoid referrin’ to each other by Christian names.”
Anthony had no response. He had been caught in his deception.
