Page 58 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“I believe Papa’s writing desk is where he would have most likely put it. He might not even have intended to hide it. He may have been writing this document when he was killed, and it was simply in his desk, unfinished this entire time. I don’t know what happened to the portable desk, but it’s likeliest to be at my mother’s house—as are the puzzle boxes he gave her, which we have not yet examined.”

“I can look through the desk and the other boxes.”

“If she’ll let you.” Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “You are not exactly well-liked by Lord Edgerton. You’d be lucky if he lets you in the door.”

“Anna...you’ll be the death of me.”

“No, I won’t. And you won’t be the death of me, either. Given that I could be shot anywhere I am, don’t you think I am safer with you than at Stonecliffe without you?”

“You’ll have Verity there. You’ll have Nathan.”

“I think it’s asking a bit much of Nathan to guard me after he’s just broken off our engagement. And I don’t want Verity. I want you.” That hadn’t come out right. “I mean, I trust you more than Verity.”

He sighed, and Annabeth knew she’d won. “Very well. We’ll go to London tomorrow.”

“What did you tell Priscilla and Timothy about this afternoon?”

“The truth—somewhat. I said someone shot at you, and your horse threw you. I suspected Mrs. Todd would tell them about finding your horse loose, so they needed to know something of what happened. And I had to have a good enough reason for our leaving here without doing any of the things Priscilla planned. Besides, I wanted them to be on guard should someone come around here asking about us. They know that something is going on, but I didn’t tell them what.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Early tomorrow, before dawn. Even if this sharpshooter is awake and watching the house, the light won’t be good enough for him to aim well. We’ll take the toll road, which will hopefully have so many travelers that he won’t risk firing at you.”

Sloane took his leave, and Annabeth packed, glad to have something to do. She was tired from the day’s activities, but her thoughts kept her restless. Even knowing that she would be arising before dawn, she found it difficult to sleep. Her mind was too busy with thoughts of her father and his death; despite the evidence, it was hard to believe that he’d been murdered. Who could have done it? And why? What could Papa have known that was that dangerous to someone?

Whenever she managed to pull her mind from that endless circle, she plunged into thoughts about Sloane. She could not help but worry that he must be upset with her for not telling him that she was no longer engaged.

But it was foolish for her to feel guilty for concealing the news. Sloane had no reason to expect anything from her, no rights over her. Anyway, maybe he had been grateful to have a reason he shouldn’t kiss her. He might very well not want his passion to get him entangled with her again.

Clearly he had felt passion. There was no mistaking the heat of his kisses. But that didn’t mean he wanted a relationship. Of course, she did not want that either...did she? It stirred a fire deep inside her to remember their kisses this afternoon. If they had not been interrupted by Mrs. Todd, Annabeth suspected she would have lain down with Sloane, all thoughts of propriety or reason or past hurts flown from her mind.

But that was desire, not love, and surely it was possible to have one without the other. After all, that was the way it had been with Nathan, although in the opposite way. She had loved Nathan, and she had wanted to, tried to, feel that uprush of hunger that came so easily when Sloane kissed her, but it had never happened.

It was so easy to feel passion for Sloane—just one look from those wicked blue eyes started the heat inside her. That lazy, knowing smile, the shaggy black hair that invited one’s fingers to smooth it, the hard body and supple hands. Good heavens, it was enough to make her ache just thinking about him.

But she could not act on that passion. She must hide her desire from all but herself. It was the only way to keep herself safe. Because loving him was disastrous. Loving Sloane was pain and heartbreak, however alive it might make her feel at the time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ANNABETH WAS AWAKENED by Sloane’s tap on her door. She jumped out of bed and dressed quickly in the clothes she had laid out on the chair. Her baggage had been carried down to the curricle the evening before, so she had only to quietly slip down the stairs to the front door, where Sloane stood waiting for her. It felt faintly illicit, sneaking out of the house like this in the middle of the night, with no farewells. She couldn’t help but think of a woman running away with her lover.

But of course it wasn’t like that at all. Sloane greeted her with a nod instead of an embrace, and they left the house and went to the vehicle without even a word exchanged. Annabeth couldn’t deny a little feeling of disappointment.

There was a half-moon, making the road somewhat visible, but they proceeded at a walk along the lane. The night was hushed all around them, the only noise the sound of the horses’ hooves or a metallic jingle in the harness connections. Now and then there was a rustle in the bushes or trees, and each time Sloane looked sharply in that direction.

He maintained his intense alertness even after the sky lightened, his eyes constantly roaming over the landscape. He relaxed a little when they reached the toll road to London, but he kept up his continual surveillance of the road.

“After we’re in London, we’ll use carriage hack,” Sloane said. “No walking about or riding in an open vehicle like this.”

“Do you really think he will try it again? It seems much more difficult to hide and shoot at one in the city. Are you absolutely sure it was a purposeful attack and not just an accident?” At Sloane’s skeptical glance, Annabeth sighed and said, “Yes, I know—you don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Right. We were quite visible on the road—a hunter couldn’t have mistaken us for an animal.”

“But we don’t know who was the target,” Annabeth pointed out. “It could have hit either one of us. Perhaps that enemy of yours tracked you down.”

“Parker?” Sloane let out a little chuckle. “I cannot imagine him or one of his men following us into the country. They are city men entirely. They’ve had ample opportunities to slip in a knife up close. No need to be a marksman. It’s you this person is after, however little you want to believe it.”

“But surely this man knows you would continue looking for the letter without me.”