Page 38 of A Troublesome Circumstance

The man’s expression hardened. “And you’d do well to take the coin and tell me what I need to know.”

“I don’t think I will,” Jude responded.

The man’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“No. Nor do I care.”

The stranger stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You would be wise to answer my questions. I could make your life very difficult.”

Jude met his gaze without flinching. “I do believe I will take my chances.”

The man’s jaw clenched. “You’re a worthless servant, nothing more. Remember your place.”

Jude’s pride prickled. If this insolent fool knew who he truly was—the Earl of Pendryn, heir to the Duke of Ashmoore—he would be bowing instead of sneering.

Keeping his tone measured, Jude responded, “Perhaps if you told me your name, I might inform the household staff that you are seeking information.”

The man’s nostrils flared. “My name is not important. I’ll ask you once more—Is Lady Josephine Tweedale residing at Ashmoore Hall?”

Jude’s suspicion sharpened. Was this Mr. Broderick or an associate working for him? He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t take the chance of revealing the truth. “She is not,” he lied.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you wish,” Jude replied curtly. “But you are trespassing on the Duke of Ashmoore’s land. If you set foot here again, I shall have you arrested for it.”

The man’s eyes burned with silent fury. For a long, tense moment, neither of them moved. Then with a derisive snarl, he said, “Thank you for your time. Good day to you.”

Jude didn’t answer, merely watched as the man turned and strode back towards the road. A black coach waited there, the lacquered panels gleaming. As the man climbed inside, Jude’s unease deepened. Whoever he was—Broderick or otherwise—he most likely would not give up easily.

When the coach rolled away, Jude exhaled slowly, his mind already racing ahead. He spun on his heel and strode towards the house. Whatever fragile peace Josephine had found here was now in danger.

He needed to warn Luca—and her—before it was too late.

7

Josephine sat primly upon the settee in the drawing room, her hands folded neatly around a porcelain teacup. The tea inside had long since cooled, but she sipped it anyway, more from habit than desire. Across from her, Charlotte was describing in great detail her wedding tour.

Josephine smiled and nodded in the right places, murmuring polite encouragements, though her heart was not in the conversation. Her mind was elsewhere—on a certain gamekeeper with warm brown eyes and a steady, maddeningly gentle voice.

If they hadn’t been interrupted on the lawn… would he have kissed her?

The very thought made her pulse quicken. And worse—she wouldn’t have objected.

Good heavens. What was wrong with her? She was the daughter of a marquess, not some love-crazed debutante. She couldn’t allow herself to feel anything for a lowly gamekeeper. And yet, he had saved her life. Perhaps that was all it was. Gratitude tangled with confusion. Nothing more.

“Josephine, are you listening?”

Charlotte’s voice cut through her musings. Josephine blinked rapidly and set her cup down before she spilled it. “Yes, of course,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Forgive me, I was… woolgathering.”

Charlotte’s lips curved knowingly. “About a particular gamekeeper, no doubt.”

Heat flamed in Josephine’s cheeks. “No! I was merely thinking about the weather.”

“Ah, yes. The weather.” Charlotte’s tone was teasing. “A perfectly safe topic for daydreams—though rather dull, don’t you think?”

Josephine looked down. “It is dull,” she admitted. “And I would much rather hear more about your travels.”

Charlotte’s tone softened. “I’ve talked of nothing else for some time now. You must be positively weary of hearing me prattle on,” she said. “What would you like to speak of?”