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Samuel had placed his own cup on a side table next to his chair. “After Quebec, there were less than that.”
Emeline cleared her throat. “Mr. Thornton was a common soldier? I never would have guessed from meeting him the other day. His speech was quite clear.”
“Thornton was a private when we knew him in the war,” Samuel said. “He was great friends with another soldier, MacDonald—”
“The redheaded twins!” Jasper exclaimed. “Always together, always up to a bit of mischief.”
Samuel nodded. “That’s right.”
Emeline looked from one man to the other. They’d seemed to have made some strange male accord without any help from her. “You know this MacDonald as well?”
Jasper sat forward, nearly upsetting the cup of tea. “Damn me, now I remember. Bad business, that. Weren’t MacDonald and his friend Brown brought up on charges of murder and—ahem!” He cut off the rest of his sentence with a cough and an embarrassed glance at Emeline.
She raised her eyebrows. From the look the gentlemen exchanged, whatever the bad business was about, it must be horrible enough that they deemed it unsuitable for her ears. She sighed in frustration. Men were so silly sometimes.
“Did MacDonald survive the massacre?” Jasper asked.
Samuel shook his head. “No. Thornton said he saw MacDonald fall, and Brown must’ve died in the assault as well. We would’ve heard of his court-martial if he had survived.”
“But we don’t know for certain about Brown.”
“No.”
“We ought to ask Thornton, see if he knows,” Jasper mused.
Samuel elevated his eyebrows. “We?”
Jasper looked like a little boy embarrassed—an expression Emeline was familiar with from childhood. It was one he often used to get his own way without too much argument. “I thought I might help you in your inquiries, since I’m not the traitor.”
“I’m relieved you have acquitted yourself,” Samuel began rather stiffly, “but I’m not so sanguine—”
“Oh, come, Samuel!” Emeline burst out. “You know Jasper isn’t the traitor. Admit it.” She glared at him, only belatedly realizing that she’d used his Christian name.
Samuel made a pretty, overshowy bow to her. “As my lady wishes.” He turned to Jasper. “I admit your innocence, if only to appease your fiancée.”
“Kind of you, I’m sure.” Jasper smiled with exposed teeth.
Samuel bared his teeth back.
Emeline straightened determinedly. “So it is decided, then. You will investigate the massacre and its aftermath. Together.”
Jasper raised his eyebrows at Samuel.
Who nodded grimly. “Together.”
Chapter Eight
Day after day and night after night, Iron Heart guarded Princess Solace. He stood behind her as she ate her meals. He followed her as she paced the royal gardens. He rode beside her as she hunted with her falcons. And he listened with a grave face as she told him her thoughts, her feelings, and the deepest secrets that lay hidden in her heart. It is a strange fact, but a true one nonetheless: a lady may come to love a man though he speak not a word....
—from Iron Heart
Rebecca cracked the door to her room and peered out. The hall outside seemed deserted. Moving quietly, she tiptoed into the hall and shut the door behind her. She was supposed to be lying down with an aching head. Evans had already supplied her with a scented cloth and the instructions to keep it on her forehead for the next half hour. But since the headache had only been an excuse in the first place, Rebecca didn’t feel any guilt about not following orders. What she did feel was a sneaking fear of her own maid. Hence her furtive movements.
She crept down the stairs and headed toward the back of the house, to the door that led out to the garden. She’d been so frightened when Samuel had had that fit in the ballroom the night before. Her elder brother always seemed so solid, so strong and in control. To see Samuel suddenly shivering and white had terrified her. Samuel was the rock she leaned on. Without him, who would be her support?
Voices came from above, and Rebecca paused. The voices coalesced into two maids arguing over the cleaning of the fireplace grates, and she relaxed. The back passage was dark, but the door was just ahead. It was ridiculous, after the fear she’d felt for her brother in the ballroom, to then feel betrayed when he revealed his real reason for coming to England. She had been the one to beg to come on this trip. She’d been so happy—so grateful—when he acquiesced to her pleas. Now, her disappointment was in proportion to her initial happiness.
Rebecca pushed open the door that led into the back garden and fled into the sunlight. Perhaps because the true owners rented the town house out, its garden had a dismal air of neglect. There were no flowers, at least none in bloom. Instead, there were a few gravel paths bordered with shoulder-height hedges. Here and there, an ornamental tree grew, and sometimes the hedges parted to reveal a square or circle with miniature hedges cut into intricate patterns. Benches lined the path at frequent intervals in case the walker became tired of this monotonous scenery.
