“There may be a need to communicate with one another in secret while I am away, to keep you abreast of any developments or for you to request my return should… should circumstances change.” Mr. Wilkins gave them both a meaningful look, and Alaric knew the man was thinking of his health.
Alaric scratched his chin. “Perhaps a cipher?”
“Ciphers can be broken.” Catherine shook her head. “More to the point, if someone sees a cipher, they will know we are trying to hide something. Which kind of defeats the whole point.”
“Then what do you suggest?” He canted his head toward her.
“Phrases that seem innocuous enough to any passing eye, but that we will know mean something completely different.” Catherine began to pace around the study, her brow furrowed in concentration. “If the Duke’s health changes and you need to return, I shall ask you about picking up some perfume from Mr. Floris in St. James. Something with jasmine, I think.”
Mr. Wilkins nodded, and Alaric could see his butler’s shoulders relax slightly. “And should I need to extend my stay in London?”
Catherine tapped her fingers against her lips thoughtfully, and Alaric had to force himself not to swallow as he followed her movement, yet he could not tear his gaze away.
“Write to us and tell us that some portrait or another at the London house is in need of repair. Though I am not sure which to mention; the art has changed since you were there last.” To Alaric’s surprise, Catherine winced and then looked at him as though trying to gauge his reaction. “I have redecorated most of the house in the last three months. I was under the impression that this would not be objectionable.”
Alaric searched Catherine’s face as he tried to understand what she wanted from him. He felt like he was missing some piece of the puzzle.
“I am sure whatever you have chosen will be more than satisfactory.”
Her eyes widened, and she nodded. Alaric felt the tension ease somewhat from his shoulders as he saw it ease from hers. “And on the matter of the painting, we can simply say that it is one of my father’s. That would do nicely.”
He saw Catherine’s brow furrow. “I did not recall coming across any such portrait.”
Alaric clenched his fists as anger surged inside him, an anger he did not entirely understand. “I had them all burned when he died.”
“Why?” She tilted her head toward him, eyes widening.
“I cannot remember. Suffice to say, mention of that portrait will serve as a good code.” He could hear the hardness in his tone but could not figure out how to soften it, especially since he did not know why mentioning his father caused such anger. “Few people know what I have done, and they will expect me to have that in good condition and to keep it so.”
No one has mentioned my father. Is it because they assumed I remembered him or something else?
He shook his head. There would be time enough to worry about that later. For now, there were more pressing things to uncover.
Mr. Wilkins nodded, his face devoid of any emotion. “Then it seems we are settled. If I might take my leave of you?”
“Of course.” Alaric inclined his head and waved the man away. “Thank you.”
As Mr. Wilkins bowed low and departed the room, Alaric moved toward the whiskey decanter and poured out two glasses. “That was a rather brilliant plan.”
He turned to face Catherine and, to his surprise, saw her standing in the doorway, her hand on the wall as though it was only his words that had stopped her from leaving altogether.
“Somewhere urgent to be, Duchess?” The words slipped from his mouth as his brow creased. “Stay a moment, share a drink with me.”
“Women do not usually drink whiskey, Alaric.”
“Is this another one of those rules of propriety that I have forgotten? I see no reason why gender should affect one’s choice of drink. But if you do not care for it, I am sure I could find sherry instead.”
“I think it would be best if I left. I am sure you are busy. And I myself have things to see to.” Her foot moved toward the door, hovering in the air.
“If I did not know any better, I would say you are trying to avoid me. Have I done something to offend you?” Alaric sat on the edge of his desk and sipped from his glass, pushing the other toward Catherine.
She glanced at the corridor and then closed the door, turning to face him with her arms folded across her chest. “Besides your little display at the lake, you mean?”
Alaric laughed, but stopped when he saw her expression darken. “You are serious?”
“Of course I am.” She frowned. “Do you think I would have objected so vehemently if I were simply joking? It was indecent, Alaric.”
“So you keep saying, but I see no reason that that should cause offense.” Alaric took another drink of his whiskey. “In fact, I find it rather peculiar that my wife seems scandalized by seeing something as normal as her husband’s body. I am fairly certain that I am not a repulsive specimen. Or at least, I did not see such sentiment in your eyes.”
