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“Ain’t got a soul, far as I can tell,” the man offered with a shrug, as if that were a perfectly normal observation.
“No soul,” Lancaster repeated tonelessly.
The boat maker nodded. “Nothing there.”
“And you say he’s been here?” The tiny inn was cloudy with peat smoke and packed to the rafters with fishing net. It hardly seemed a likely stopping place for an earl’s man.
“Every so often, yup. Come in to wet his whistle three days ago.”
“What’s he looking for?” Lancaster asked, though he already knew the answer would be vague.
“Don’t know. Never says a word.”
“All right then.” Lancaster slapped his hat against his knee. “Thank you for your kind attention.”
“Honored, yer lordship.”
Lancaster slipped his hat on and glanced around to be sure there were no newcomers in the inn, but the same five men stared back at him. He raised his hand in farewell before stepping out into the rain.
If he remembered correctly, and he wasn’t sure he did, Richmond’s land started a good five-hour carriage ride to the west. Less than that on horseback then. It was possible Bram made the trip from Richmond’s every few days and then returned immediately home. If he was staying somewhere nearby, no one in the village suspected.
Despite the rain, Lancaster ignored the carriage and crossed to the lane where Adam’s family lived. The boy’s mother had been taken by surprise yesterday, caught between the excitement of a viscount visiting her tiny cottage and the fear of letting her boy go live in a house beset by spirits. She hadn’t wanted to say yes but had been unable to say no. Feeling guilty for her worry, Lancaster braved the short walk in the rain to offer a good day and assure the woman her youngest boy was settling in well.
After that, he crossed to the Painter home to check on Mrs. Pell, but she’d set out for home during a brief lull in the storm. Hopefully, she was already home, dry and safe, and working hard at a meaty stew for tonight’s dinner.
Lancaster, feeling a bit lost, glanced down the road before stepping up into the carriage. He hadn’t accomplished much aside from giving himself time to think about Cynthia.
Her arguments for making love had made perfect sense in the confines of that small room. It had all been very logical with the sight of her naked skin gleaming in the firelight. Of course they should make love. What a grand idea.
But now he was reeling. What had he done? He couldn’t marry her, but he couldn’t not marry her now. She might be pregnant this very moment, despite his attempt to prevent it.
She’d been so lovely and tempting and warm. And so familiar despite the newness of this physical desire.
Lancaster rubbed his knuckles against his forehead. He shouldn’t have made love to her. And yet the thought of taking it back twisted a knife into his gut.
Even more painful was the thought of sending her on her way when this adventure was done.
He couldn’t marry her, and he couldn’t not marry her.
His head began to throb. They’d roll up to Cantry Manor soon. He should have some idea of what he would say to her. “We can’t do that again,” seemed like a good opening. And then what?
The knife in his gut turned another revolution.
“Jackson,” he called, slamming his fist against the ceiling. A small panel slid open. “Take me to Oak Hall.”
Jackson’s reply was lost in the wind, but the panel slid closed.
Instead of going home, Lancaster would question Mr. Cambertson. Find out more about this debt and Bram’s mysterious appearances. If he stalled long enough he just might have an inkling of what to do with Cynthia Merrithorpe. Right now all he could think to do was help to solve her problems.
Bram was a mystery. His identity, his whereabouts, his intention. Perhaps Lancaster should just kill him and ignore the mystery altogether. Cynthia said he hadn’t hurt her, but he’d allowed her to be hurt. He’d stood by and watched her attacked by a monster.
Then again, Lancaster already planned to kill Richmond. And then there was that animal, James. Three murders might be beyond the pale. Probably Cynthia wouldn’t appreciate his collecting corpses for her like a macabre bouquet.
Perhaps this Bram fellow did not deserve murdering per se. Perhaps just a good thrashing. Well, that took him down to two killings. Was two a reasonable number? The beast deep inside him seemed to think so.
Five minutes later he was about to knock on the door of Oak Hall when it opened quickly enough to create its own breeze.
“You got my message?”
