“Our next step, as my lieutenant observed, should be to question your tenants. I thought it best to come here instead of terrifying them in the night. You have a murderer in your midst, Clarion.”
“Nonsense!” The countess’s chin shook. “Whoever did this thing is undoubtedly long gone. How dare you accuse Clarion of harboring him.”
“Did I? I merely alerted the earl to a criminal in his midst.” This time she looked away first.
“And I’m grateful. You already checked obvious hiding places, so I agree, we need to talk to Caulfield tenants. Willowbrook people appear to already be involved. Do you think the questioning will keep for first light? My people can handle it, though you may want one of your men to join us.”
Rob agreed. Clarion outlined the number of farms and the likeliest candidates on the outlying edges of his land. “I’ll have Spangler brought here tomorrow, too, so I can question him about it, but we’ll still do the rounds of the tenants.”
“Spangler?” The countess shrieked, drawing the men’s attention. “I never trusted that man. He coerced your father into signing that will, leaving everything to scum and bastards. He would never have done it if Spangler hadn’t gotten him drunk.”
Clarion grimaced. “No one had to help my father drink himself into stupidity.”
“That creature will lie. You won’t be able to believe a word he says,” the woman went on.
Clarion studied his mother slowly before answering. “Perhaps. Perhaps not, but it will be interesting to hear what he has to say.”
“If you are quite done with this nonsense, I need to rest. This is all very upsetting.” This time, she left on her own, and they didn’t stop her.
Rob peered at Clarion, but neither man spoke. If the countess and Spangler conspired, perhaps a little pressure might unravel something.
“Lieutenant Gibbons can fetch our miserable solicitor friend for you,” Rob said at last. “He and Goodfellow will stay here so they can join you at first light.”
“What will you be doing, Benson?”
“I’m staying at Willowbrook.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
While hours wentby and the men did not return, Lucy and Abbott lit the torches on either side of the entryway to shine a narrow circle of light on the pavement in front of the manor, but the feeble flares failed to penetrate the darkness beyond.
“Mayhap they went on to The Willow and the Rose, if they chased the villain over that ridge and down to the river,” Agnes said, lighting another brace of candles. “Only a fool would ride any farther than he had to on a night this dark.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. Still, Lucy stood at the window, mourning Robbins, laid out in the cellars of Willowbrook. Safe in the well-guarded confines of the manor, she feared no harm from her attacker; something more vital ate at her. She feared for the safety of the men who had gone to search. She feared—
Hours passed, and the ticking of the clock stripped layers of pretense from that thought until she could no longer hide from her real concern.I need Rob. I need to see him safe. I need… He must know I fear for him. He wouldn’t leave me here worrying.
Lucy checked on the men guarding the rear of Willowbrook, carried them blankets, and refreshed their coffee. Abbott, guarding the front, declined assistance. She sent Agnes to bed. Standing in the silent house, she tried to convince herself to douse the lights in the drawing room and go on up to bed herself, though, nerves stretched taut, she doubted she could sleep.
Pulling the curtain from the window, she peered into the darkness, expecting nothing. Just as she started to let the curtain fall, the flicker of a light caught her attention. She watched the glow reveal itself as a lantern carried by a man riding up the lane at a walk. Her heart began a rhythm that accelerated as he approached.
Rob almost disappeared into the shadows when he doused the lantern, handing it to Abbott. She reached the door before he did, flung it open, and devoured the sight of him standing in the torchlight, wrinkled and weary, a day’s growth of beard on his cheeks, a bundle in his arms, and sorrow deepening the lines in the corners of his eyes. She swallowed twice to clear her throat and calm the heartbeat pounding there. “You came back,” she breathed.
A grin, lopsided and dear, lit his face. “You waited.”
She scrambled back so he could enter, embarrassed by her foolish words, and noticed for the first time that the bundle he carried had begun to squirm.
He saw the direction of her gaze, and his grin widened. He offered her the bundle, its movement becoming frantic. A wooly head peeked out the opening, and her heart swelled.
“You found it!” She took the lamb from him, but the creature struggled until she put it down, and it wandered into the darkened dining room. “Agnes will have a fit if she finds that animal in the house. We best give it to Vincent. He can see that it gets to his mother in the morning.”
He caught her arm when she started after the animal and pulled her back. Whatever he meant to say stuck in his throat. His hand slid up her arm to her shoulder, and his heated gaze stole her breath.
“Oh, bloody hell,” he murmured as his mouth found hers, and his arm snaked around her to pull her close.
When he loosened his grip to allow her to move away, she clung to his shoulders to pull him back, and he kissed her again, caressing her mouth with his, seeking and finding entrance to deepen it. She lost herself in the embrace. Only when he pulled away to breathe, his breath hot against her mouth, and began to slide gentle kisses in the corner of it and down her chin did she realize how she clutched his neck with one arm while her other hand had tangled in his hair, feathering it between her fingers.
“Oh God, Rob, what—”
