Her words implied that Sheffield’s devil-may-care demeanor hid a vulnerable soul. Wrexford wished he could sneer at the notion, but he knew his friend too well to make light of it.
“If Kit is shattered by what lies ahead, we must hope that our friendship and support will help him put the pieces back together again.”
Charlotte touched his arm, and suddenly the morning’s damp chill seemed to evaporate. “You’re right, Wrexford. Love and friendship can work miracles.”
His lips twitched. “As a man of science, I don’t believe in miracles.”
“And yet, as a man of science,” she countered, “you must concede that there are forces of Nature you can’t rationally explain.”
“Granted, life is full of ticklish conundrums.” A groom brought over the mare. Lacing his hands together, Wrexford offered her a boost into the saddle. “Let us hope we can solve at least one of them this morning.”
Dawn’s light was just touching the horizon as they rode out in silence, the earl leading the way through the sloping meadows to a country lane. After glancing back and seeing that Charlotte looked at ease in the saddle, Wrexford spurred to an easy canter. The rhythmic thud of the hooves grew louder as the way wound through a swath of woodland. Shadows hung heavy in the leaves, mirroring the group’s somber mood.
As a flicker of pale sunlight shone up ahead and the trees began to thin, the earl reined to halt.
“The cottage is close,” he said to Charlotte once she and Sheffield had come abreast of him. “We’ll dismount once we reach the hedgerow up ahead, and go on foot.”
She nodded.
The gloom had brightened just enough to show that Sheffield’s visage was pale as death.
“Kit,” said Wrexford softly. “If you would prefer to wait—”
“No.” Sheffield tightened his grip on his reins. “I’m not such a craven coward that I can’t summon the backbone to have Lady Cordelia tell me to my face of her betrayal.”
The earl released a silent sigh and spurred forward.
They dismounted, careful to keep their movements as quiet as possible, and then, once again, Wrexford took the lead. After squeezing through the narrow opening in the hedge, he led the way around a high ivy-covered wall. A wrought-iron gate guarded the opening facing the cart track. It wasn’t locked. A softsnickallowed them to enter the inner yard.
The cottage windows were curtained, and no smoke rose from the chimney. The earl moved to the front door, hoping Sheffield didn’t notice the weight of the pistol concealed in his coat pocket. He didn’t expect trouble. But then again, desperate men were prone to doing desperate things, and despite the dowager’s assessment, Woodbridge didn’t strike him as the steadiest of fellows.
Wrexford tested the latch. It didn’t budge, but it quickly yielded to the steel probe he had brought along. He motioned for the others to follow. What little light came in through the drawn draperies showed a small entrance foyer that opened into a center corridor. Ahead were stairs leading up to the second floor. He paused and then turned into the main parlor. Ashes lay in the hearth. Several empty glasses sat on the tea table.
“I’ll have a look in the kitchen,” whispered Charlotte.
The earl signaled her to go, then motioned for Sheffield to follow him through the door into what looked like the professor’s study. Bookcases lined the walls, all crammed with leather-bound volumes and stacks of manuscript pages bound with twine. The desk was also covered with books and documents. As Wrexford approached it, he saw a pen on the blotter, its nib dark with dried ink.
He looked up and cocked an ear. No sounds from above. The inhabitants were either all asleep. Or . . .
He felt a tingle at the back of his neck. “You check the other rooms down here,” he murmured to Sheffield. “I’m going to head upstairs.”
His friend looked on the verge of protest, but after a tiny hesitation, he gave a grim nod and backtracked from the study to cross the corridor.
Slipping a hand into his pocket, Wrexford climbed the stairs, treading as softly as he could. There looked to be four chambers set along the narrow corridor, with two on each side. All the doors were shut, the age-dark oak looking black as Hades in the dim light. Holding his breath, he approached the nearest one and eased it open.
Empty.
Wrexford edged over to the next room. The hinges creaked as the door gave way to a light push. It, too, was empty, though the bedcovering looked a little rumpled, and a lady’s lace fichu lay half-hidden behind the dressing table. Moving on, he found the other two rooms deserted, as well.
He hurried back down the stairs and met Charlotte, who had just left the kitchen.
“There’s food in the larder, and dirty dishes on the worktable,” she confided in a low voice. “Someone has been here recently, but—”
“But they’ve fled,” he finished. “And God only knows where they’ve gone.”
CHAPTER 15
Charlotte turned as Sheffield came out of a side parlor, a wine-colored silk hair ribbon twined in his fingers.
