Page 10 of Who’s That Earl

Thomas was not, however, accustomed to feeling fear on behalf of another. Fear not for the faceless Ratliff, who was two days’ journey off and would have to fend for himself. Fear for Jane, whose blue gaze was now regarding him with an uneasy mix of steadiness and uncertainty.

Based on that letter, a madman might have Robin Ratliff in his sights. But if the letter writer decided to make good on his threats and came to Dunnock, where the famous author was believed to reside, he would find Jane instead, all but alone. The scattering of servants—among them, a septuagenarian housekeeper and that fellow allowed to play at being gatekeeper—offered little security. To say nothing of those noisy fluffs of fur that passed for guard dogs.

Reflexively, Thomas curled his hand into a fist. He hadn’t wanted the responsibilities of Dunnock’s laird. But he couldn’t let someone come to harm inside these walls. He glanced around the room. His walls.

Her gaze had shifted to the desktop. “Oh. Of course.” She was speaking to herself more than to him, and in a tone of dawning realization. “And naturally, he chose someone familiar with the place. Someone whose time in the army gave him certain skills.” Before Thomas could sort out her meaning, she jerked her attention back to him, and her penetrating eyes raked once more over his face, his clothes. He let her study him without interruption. In his experience, people liked to imagine themselves clever enough to read others. “I know why you’ve come,” she declared.

“Aye, an’ why’s that?” Did she think he’d written that threatening letter? Was she about to accuse him of plotting to murder her employer?

“Mr. Ratliff’s solicitor said the new earl had been found, but that he lived too far off to take matters in hand directly. You must be Lord Magnus’s agent.”

The laugh that burst from him was genuine, though it conveyed more shock than humor. Bad enough, in all conscience, to be the earl himself. But a landowner’s agent? “Indeed I’m not. Such work would be far beyond my humble abilities, to borrow a pretty turn of phrase.” His own unfitness for the task of managing Dunnock was why he’d come here with hopes of hiring Higginbotham, after all.

At least she hadn’t been imagining him a would-be murderer—though it might have been more reassuring if she had. She needed to exercise caution with visitors. If that was her desk, then presumably she’d been the one to stab the letter with the penknife. Had that been her way of dismissing the danger it represented?

“If you’re not here about Mr. Ratliff’s lease on Dunnock…” Her brows dove into a worried V as she puzzled over the matter. Of course. The blasted lease. Had the solicitor indicated that Ratliff might be turned out by the new earl? Did she fear for her own position if that happened? “…Then what is it you want here, Mr. Sutherland?”

His mind spun. Since that day in General Scott’s office, he’d had no difficulty coming up with a long list of reasons to leave Dunnock Castle as quickly as possible after his arrival. Now, however, if he hoped to protect Jane, he needed an excuse to stay.

“You said yourself that the situation here demands someone who knows Dunnock, someone with certain skills.” He might not know the first thing about being an earl, but he was a damned good intelligence officer. His gaze landed once more on the letter. Here was the task to which he could apply his talents. “As I think you know, Robin Ratliff has received death threats. I’m here to investigate.”

Chapter 4

Jane opened her mouth, but all that came out was a strangled, choking sort of noise, the sound of a gasp, a laugh, and a one-word shriek—liar!—colliding in her throat. Of all the preposterous explanations for him to offer, the one he’d hit upon was surely the most ridiculous.

“Are you suggesting Mr. Ratliff hired you?” She probed the claim, just to make sure she hadn’t misheard.

“That surprises you?”

“Shock might be a more accurate description, Mr. Sutherland. Utter disbelief would not be an exaggeration. Why, I am tempted to call it impossible. The notion that Robin Ratliff has been writing letters and conducting business without the knowledge and assistance of his secretary—”

“Amanuensis,” he corrected, with that playful smile she wanted to despise but couldn’t. “Surely, you don’t mean to suggest he involves his humble copyist in every decision he makes?”

“I—” She prepared to pounce on the falsehood. Two things held her back.

First was the simple fact that she was lying too. Lying to him—to everyone. Not that one person’s lies excused another’s, or that hers made him somehow trustworthy. But it felt hypocritical to fault him for fabricating an answer without knowing why. She, of all people, understood that one might have a perfectly good reason for doing it. She, of all people, knew how risky the truth could be.

And second, only two people knew about the threat to Robin Ratliff. She was one. The other was the letter writer. Which meant that Mr. Sutherland just might be...

No. No, of course he hadn’t written the blasted thing. He’d seen it while nosing around her desk—as he’d obviously been doing when she came in, however much he denied it. It had been foolish of her to leave it lying about. But why assume there had been other threats? Why pretend to have been called here to investigate the matter?

And since his arrival obviously had nothing to do with a letter he’d only just seen, she still had no answer to the question of what had brought him here. She did not entirely trust his flat denial about working for the Earl of Magnus. He’d said he’d come on a matter of business, after all, and the solicitor’s letter had alerted her to the most pressing business having to do with Dunnock Castle.

When Mr. Sutherland had discovered that the “Mr. Higginbotham” he’d traveled so far to see was in fact the woman he’d known years ago, his surprise had been genuine, of that she felt sure. Some part of even her wondered whether his lie was a fumbling, even endearing, excuse to stay and reacquaint himself with her.

If that was the case, should she be flattered or aggravated by his interest?

His sudden appearance had brought to mind the long-gone days of assemblies and pretty dresses, giggling behind her fan, a stroll in a moonlit garden with a handsome gentleman. She never allowed herself to feel lonely. But tonight she found herself recalling with a sort of fondness the time before she had discovered that the surest—and safest—route to her dream had to be traveled alone.

Aggravated. Definitely aggravated. The past belonged in the past, no matter how temptingly it beckoned.

But displaying her aggravation was unlikely to help her find out the truth. She might be better off to go along with his ruse, merely to keep an eye on him. Shaking off the sharp words she had been about to speak, she favored him with a smile instead. She would find a way to manage this situation, as she had managed so many others. “It seems Robin Ratliff still has the capacity to surprise me, Mr. Sutherland.”

If the abrupt shift in her demeanor had caught him off guard, he quickly regained his balance. “The best storytellers are full of surprises, Mrs. Higginbotham. I, for one, find it dull—and a little suspicious—when things go entirely to plan. Of course, some surprises are pleasanter than others.” He tipped his head as if to include her among the pleasant surprises.

“It’s kind of you to say so, Mr. Sutherland. I should hate to be thought dull.” She stepped toward her desk, almost brushing against him as she passed, and then jerked the penknife free of the wood. After returning that implement to its place on the engraved silver tray beside the ink bottle, she picked up the two letters, folded the one from the solicitor, and placed it in the desk’s shallow center drawer, which she then locked with a tiny key she fished from deep within her bodice. “Or suspicious.”

He watched her with a passable imitation of indifference to everything but the knife, and even that earned nothing more strenuous than a raised eyebrow.