Page 26 of Lyon on the Loose

Before she knew it, he’d shrugged out of his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. Once again, she noted the pain in his expression when he rotated his injured shoulder.

The jacket was coarse wool but warm from his body, and it carried the faint scent of woodsmoke. She remembered how he’d sheltered her from the cold when they were in the hollow oak; how it felt to be so close to him when they’d shared the bed in the Metsons’ farmhouse. It would be so easy just to step into his embrace again and feel comforted and reassured.

Only—this was the last man from whom she should be seeking reassurance. He’d lied to her and deceived her and was still doing so.

Putting some distance between them, she held his gaze. “I think this may be our moment to parley, Mr. Cowley.”

His shoulders drooped. “I think you may be right. A fortuitous deluge, then—I thought we were never going to be able to shake off the Mole.”

Her mouth twitched despite herself. She recalled the view of her brother’s rear as he wriggled through the overgrown tunnel entrance. Yes—Mole was indeed a suitable epithet.

“Let me get straight to the point. What are you doing here at Mundlingham Castle, and why are you incognito? Oh yes—and the more important question is why I should keep your secret.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, dislodging the awful pebble-lensed glasses he’d been wearing. He made a deft snatch and caught them, and she resisted the urge to laugh. They really did make him look a fright. It would serve him right if she were to draw his likeness wearing those spectacles and circulate it around the drawing rooms of the ton. That would take him down a peg or two!

Roland shot her an appealing look—too appealing. He was giving her his puppy-dog expression, but she wasn’t going to be fooled.

“I think we both know by now,” he said quietly, “that your mother and my employer conspired to ensure we traveled here together. I’m not certain either of them knows that we’d already met—or the circumstances of that meeting. They don’t know that you are aware of my true identity.”

“Mama certainly doesn’t seem to know who you really are, but that could very quickly change.”

He lifted a hand. “Please don’t give me away—not until you’ve heard me out.”

“I may not be fond of my mother, but I don’t approve of strangers trying to bamboozle her.”

“That’s a trifle unfair when you’re bamboozling her yourself. I can’t imagine you’re going to tell her about the night we spent in that farmhouse bedroom.”

So, he wanted to cross swords with her, did he? He certainly wasn’t doing himself any favors.

“Concealing information is not exactly the same as being deceitful.”

“Well, all I’m doing is concealing information. I don’t want your mother to know who I am. Is it too much to ask that you guard my secret just a little longer?”

“May I remind you that you’re being paid for concealment. Paid twice, in fact, both for running the Black Widow’s little errands, and for being Mama’s secretary.”

Besides, what did he mean by putting a time limit on the issue? Was he planning to leave soon, or did he intend to bring matters to a head? And what matters might those be, anyway?

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “Tell me what’s going on, Roland, so I can decide what to do.”

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon needs me here to capture Henry Sutton. She expects him to come after me, and I need to be ready when he does. There’s something else—”

“You think Sutton will come here?” she interrupted. “I hoped we’d seen the last of him. If there is to be a confrontation between you and Sutton, why does it have to happen at Mundlingham Castle?”

He shrugged his shoulders and winced again. “Before I explain, I have to say I can’t think of a better place for our denouement—it will be on my—I mean our terms, not his. This is a castle, after all, and used to defending itself against invaders.”

She tried to imagine Cook, the gardener, the stable boy, and the housemaids all ranged along the crumbling top of the curtain wall, brandishing sickles, whips, brooms, and cabbages, defending their home against intruders.

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds, Roland?”

He rubbed his forehead. “I suppose it does, yes. But I haven’t quite finished. As we know, Sutton and Treadwell are in cahoots. Treadwell is now a man with his back to the wall, having lost you and the hope of gaining your fortune. He’s also a wanted felon, and we have the power to put him behind bars. Not a comfortable situation for an intelligent man—and I assume he’s comparatively intelligent, since he was a trained artist. He’ll want to come out of his misadventure with something. I’m concerned that ‘something’ might be you.”

She pressed a hand against her breast. “Me?”

Oscar must know he’d burned his bridges with her. How could she not have realized he was after her fortune? Love truly was blind, was it not?

“I fear so,” Roland continued. “I’ve made up my mind to remain here. I haven’t been coerced by Mrs. Dove-Lyon, nor asked by your mother as part of any conspiracy against you. I simply want to protect you as best I can. We have both seen what wicked, desperate men are capable of.”

“So, you think Sutton still means to come for you, and Oscar wants to kidnap me for my inheritance?”