Checkmate, My Lord (20 page)

The outer door to Sebastian’s bedchamber closed behind a reluctant Danforth. After watching Sebastian succumb to the effects of a concussion, the viscount had not been keen on leaving. Sebastian had spent the last half hour convincing the agent that his efforts were better spent in London, tracking down their enemy, than playing nursemaid.

Sebastian propped his bare feet atop the sitting room’s ottoman, unhappy to realize the laudanum the doctor had prescribed was wearing off. Much to his relief, his nausea had dissipated; however, a dull throb continued to batter his brain, lower back, and behind his left knee.

His assailant had known what he was about. With three swift and violent strikes, he had incapacitated a seasoned agent, who knew a score of ways to kill a man—when not in his cups.

Tilting his head back, he gave in to the bone-deep weariness that had invaded his body. For someone who was rarely sick and never tired, his current condition put him in a sour mood. That Catherine had not bothered to check on him all day had nothing to do with his present foul temper. Nothing at all.

He closed his eyes and the relief was instant. The candlelight glowed bright enough to be a nuisance, and he still had a difficult time focusing. Once the muscles in his face relaxed and the tautness in his shoulders eased, he allowed his mind to wander. Allowed it to seek a source of calm and tranquility. Most times when he performed this exercise, he would find himself standing at the bow of a fast-moving ship, heading toward the sunrise, the rejuvenating buff of a sea breeze sliding along his skin.

But not this time. This time, his mind moved inexorably to Catherine, to her mischievous brown eyes and honey-gold hair. To her full, berry-red lips and her petite, God-blessed figure he had yet to fully explore.

Last night, when he found her sitting on the hearth rug, brushing her hair and eating bits of cheese, a feeling of completion had overcome him. Images of them making love beneath the countess’s canopied bed, sharing a steaming tub of water, and idling away hours on the balcony while admiring a moonless night drenched his mind.

He had wanted to make love to her so badly last night, but could not break free of the secrets he was sworn to keep. Caution had been his bedmate for many years. So far, discretion had never let him down.

Even so, he had nearly given in to her plea for information. Had nearly unloaded everything he knew of her husband. How brave he’d been. How he’d saved so many lives. How devastating Ashcroft’s death had been for him. But all those confessions would lead her to the Nexus, exposing his agents to unforeseen perils. Something he would never do while chief, and never allow her to do.

He prayed she had not become involved in his war with Latymer. In her single-minded attempt to seek justice for her husband’s murder, she might inadvertently have stepped inside Latymer’s web. He’d learned long ago that what lies within one’s heart is often hidden behind the best defenses. But, as he told Danforth, he would rule nothing out. For all he knew, Latymer could have sent her to him in London. A fraud from day one.

His lungs released a shuddering breath, and the distinctive urge for oblivion returned. He toyed with his drink, his mouth watering. Then he made himself recall his vulnerable state last night and pushed it away. He would not endanger those beneath his charge for a few hours of numbness. He eased up from his chair, stretching his back and testing his injured leg.

With more hobble than stride, he made his way over to the bank of high-ceiling windows and peeled back one of the drapes. He was grateful to see the onset of evening approaching. Swirling hues of pink, orange, and yellow rode low on the horizon, bringing an otherwise dismal day to a gracious end.

He wondered how Catherine’s meetings with the craftsmen had gone and if she had stopped by the McCarthys’ to offer whatever solace she could. Regret weighed heavily on his mind. He should have been with her. Neither task was hers to bear alone.

Then a more insidious thought crept inside his mind. Had she helped him with estate matters for some reason he had yet to understand? No, she had been dealing with his tenants long before Reeves’s request. Sebastian rubbed his aching head.

A low knock sounded at the bedchamber door and then an exchange of words ensued. Seconds later, his valet appeared in the sitting room doorway. “My lord,” Parker said in a near whisper. “Mrs. Ashcroft is here to see you.”

The mere mention of Catherine’s name made his body tense with anticipation.
She
came
. Sebastian slowly turned toward his valet, his heart hammering inside his chest. “Show her in.”

Parker eyed Sebastian’s attire. “Sir, perhaps you’d like to adorn yourself of a neckcloth and trousers first? Stockings, too?”

“No need to whisper around me any longer, Parker,” Sebastian said. “The pain is down to a tolerable ache.”

“Very well, my lord.” He hesitated. “And the other?”

For his valet’s sake, Sebastian tightened the sash holding his banyan closed and made sure all his manly parts were discreetly covered. “This will do.”

Parker nodded and disappeared. The next several minutes seemed an eternity while he waited for his staff to escort Catherine above stairs. Why had she chosen this moment to check on him? Why not hours ago when her cool palm could have soothed his splitting head?

Sebastian stretched his neck first one way, then the other, and rolled his shoulders. The exercise relieved some of his tension but failed to calm his heart. Then he heard the light tread of feminine feet coming down the corridor.

Seconds ticked by, each holding a decade’s worth of time. He longed to see her, yearned to feel her body pressed to his. Through the haze of his need, he recalled his promise to Danforth.
“I will keep my wits about me.”

Notwithstanding his imminent departure back to London, he had to maintain a level of emotional distance until he either absolved her of any involvement with Latymer or confirmed a connection.
Yearning
and
longing
had no place in their dalliance.

The door closed in the other chamber, and Sebastian’s chest rose high on a deep inhalation. His jaw ached from the pressure of his clenched teeth. And then he noticed the first hint of a feminine silhouette approaching the open doorway.

Within seconds, Catherine filled the frame. Beautiful, proud, tempting. Cautious.

“My lord.” Her voice held a slight quaver. “Mrs. Fox said you were attacked by a thief last night. Is this true?”

He studied her shadowed face, unable to make out her features. “We have yet to determine if the man was a thief. Nothing appears stolen. But yes, I came upon a man unawares in my study.”

She moved farther into the sitting room. Something was wrong with her eyes and her features appeared drawn and hesitant. Without thinking, he limped toward her. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re injured.” She rushed into the chamber. “How badly?”

“A bruise, nothing to worry over.” He tilted her chin up. “Have you been crying?”

***

“Of course not.” Catherine stepped away. She had hoped her bout of self-pity would not be evident by the time she arrived. Except for some sleepless nights over the last several years, she had done an admirable job not wallowing in the fact that she was alone. Every decision—good or bad—was hers to make. The only thing she hadn’t had to worry about was money. With Jeffrey gone, she would have to consider that issue now, too—once she cleaned up this espionage mess he’d left behind.

Since she could not discuss the reason behind her puffy, gritty eyes and her long face, she redirected the conversation back to him. “Besides your leg, where else are you hurt?”

“I am well on the mend, Catherine. No need to concern yourself.”

“Did Grayson send for the doctor?”

“Yes.”

She scrutinized him more closely. He balanced his weight on his right foot and he seemed to be squinting, almost as if it pained him to look upon her. Beyond those two indicators of discomfort, she could detect nothing else.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Saving
my
daughter.
“I came to check on you.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Did you not just learn of the attack upon your arrival?”

“No, my lord,” she said. “You did not answer my knock this morning. At the time, I thought you needed the rest. However, when I returned later, Lord Danforth said you were unwell and couldn’t receive visitors. He said nothing about an attack, though.”

“If not now, when did you learn of the attack?”

His tone carried an air of interrogation, making her feel as though she had done something wrong. In truth, she had not planned on coming here tonight. But when she’d received his housekeeper’s response to her earlier inquiry, she’d had to come. “I sent a note around to Mrs. Fox, not long ago, asking for news of your recovery. A reply came but thirty minutes ago. Sophie wanted to bring you biscuits to speed up your recovery.”

By slow degrees, she watched the hardness in his features soften and the rigid set to his shoulders ease. On some level, she regretted his transformation. Now that she did not have his cold inquisition in which to focus her attention, she became keenly aware of
him
.

With his disheveled hair, scruffy face, and loosely tied banyan, he looked disreputable and wholly desirable. She wished they had met under different circumstances, at a time when they could have explored this attraction they held for each other. But their association was caged within the walls of deception, with no way to break the barrier.

He prowled closer, his unwavering crystalline gaze on hers. She held her breath, unsure of his mood and unable to block the memory of her daughter’s screams. She could do this. She could do whatever it took to secure the damned list, protect her daughter, and be rid of her gaolers. She could do this.

No matter how much it broke her heart.

His fingertips skimmed the curve of her cheek. “You have been crying. Why?”

She fought the compulsion to lean into his touch. “Meghan.” The lie fell easily, too easily from her lips.

“Catherine.
Cat
.” He clasped the back of her head, drawing her forward, into the comfort of his chest. “I’m sorry you had to witness such barbarity. Such things are not for the eyes of innocents.”

Her arms wrapped around his middle. “Why kill her? The babe’s father could have disappeared and never returned.” She burrowed her nose deeper into his silk wrap, absorbing his musky scent and banishing forever the stench of mud and death.

“Perhaps the father could not leave,” he said. “Maybe he had a family and was afraid Meghan would reveal their secret. Could be any number of reasons. None of them acceptable.”

His embrace tightened, and Catherine reciprocated. Air hissed between his teeth, and he jerked away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said through stiff lips.

“Liar.” She tugged on the end of his sash, pulling the tie free.

He backed up, securing his wrap. “What are you about?”

“You have another injury you failed to mention.”

“The doctor has already seen to it.”

“What is
it
?”

She saw him weighing his options, no doubt considering whether to brush off her question with a vague response or put an end to this line of query with the truth. From her perspective, the decision took much longer than it should have.

“A contusion,” he said finally.

She frowned, having never heard the term.

“Bruise,” he clarified. “A rather unpleasant one.”

“Is it the same on your leg?”

He nodded. “Thankfully, my assailant did not shatter my knee.”

“Oh, Sebastian.” She reached for his hand, and her chest clenched when his fingers grasped hers in return. “Where else?”

He released a long, heavy sigh. “Concussion.”

She peered at his head, seeing nothing amiss. “Where?”

“Are you this motherly to everyone?”

“Only to those who insist nothing is wrong. Point, please.” When he did nothing but narrow his gaze on her, she said, “Your attempt to stare me into submission will not work. That particular tactic ceased intimidating me many years ago.” She waved toward his head. “Where did he bash you?”

Rather than point to the location, he grabbed her wrist and lifted her hand to his hair. He carefully guided her fingers through the soft strands until she reached a large bump three inches above his left ear.

She sucked in an astonished breath. “Goodness, my lord. Why are you not abed?”

He closed his eyes, seeming to take comfort from her caress, although she did not touch the painful lump again.

“Hearing you say my name is so much more preferable than ‘my lord.’”

Heat rose into her cheeks. “Why do you always evade my questions?” Recalling his other injuries, she stepped around him, her fingers tracing down his nape.

“For the same reason you’re keeping the true source of your tears from me.” His luminous gaze followed her progress.

His wide shoulders filled her vision, and she once again experienced a sense of her own delicacy while standing next to him. With a feather-like touch, she skimmed her fingers down his back, circling the lower portion. “Is this where he hurt you?”

She heard him swallow. “Yes.”

“May I see?”

Over his shoulder, he said, “You might find more than an ugly patch of skin.”

She hoped so. Retracing her path, she memorized each silk-draped sinew before gripping the neckline of his banyan. With her eyes riveted on her hands, she drew the shimmering cloth off his shoulders. Something desperate and raw raked along her every nerve ending, making her hands tremble and her breaths shaky.

Once his upper arms were free, the silken wrap, secured by his sash, drooped over his bottom, revealing a long black bruise that ran perpendicular to his spine. It had to be six inches long and about two inches high. The visual evidence of the violence he’d endured and suffered alone forced her pleasurable thoughts to the wayside. “Sweet Lord.”