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Alex had laughed. “I’ve stopped there before. It seems the perfect place for anyone of a shady disposition to stay. It’s big enough to be able to maintain a degree of anonymity but small enough to not see a great deal of traffic.”
By the time their destination had come into view, Grace was well and truly tired of their travels. She ought to have requested they drive instead of ride. But Alex had seemed so delighted when she had agreed the night before that she hadn’t wanted to change her mind.
The innkeeper, when they finally saw him, was quite suspicious of their questions until Alex offered him some coins. Then his tongue loosened quite nicely, even though he didn’t think he could help them.
“The only fellow who’s been stayin’ here regular like is Mr. Griffin. But he’s not a nobleman, my lord. Barely respectable he is. So, I donna think he’s the one yer lookin’ for, my lord. But iffn’ you want to see for yerself, he’s in the taproom right now.”
That wasn’t his name, of course, but since Grace had met her father’s cousin a few times, she would recognize his red, jowly face if he was in the taproom. She looked at Alex with what she knew was probably a wild stare for the briefest moment. Just as she could recognize Lord Griffiths, he would surely recognize her. And while a part of her wanted to confront the rotter immediately, if it were him causing trouble for Rathnelly, they needed far more information before they could actually accuse him of anything. Still, they had to verify his presence, so they thanked the innkeeper and strolled toward the taproom as calmly as possible. One glance was all it took for Grace to recognize her relative. Before she could think what to do, Alex grabbed her hand and pulled her outside.
“What is happening, my lord?” She kept her voice down but still demanded answers. Without saying anything, Alex gestured at the open window. Gracie’s eyes widened, and she allowed him to pull her in that direction.
“Fire would do the most damage, I expect.”
Grace had never liked her cousin’s voice. It seemed both cold and uncultured. But in that moment, it sent a deep chill down her spine that even having Alex’s hand gripping her arm wasn’t able to dispel.
What was he thinking to set fire to? And how could they stop him? Should they just confront him now and put an end to it? But short of shooting or maiming him, how could they stop him? Questions chased themselves around in her head, and she didn’t hear anything else as the blood whooshing in her ears drowned everything out until Alex was pulling her again. She started to frown at him but before she could state her mind, he manoeuvred her into a space between the inn and a shed then leaned over her.
All thought fled her mind as she gazed up at him. Was he about to kiss her? Would she let him? It was highly inappropriate besides inexplicable timing, but Grace rather thought she might like to see what it was like.
But then the buzzing in her ears had cleared, and she heard Griffiths’ voice nearby. He had come out into the stable yard. Alex was saving her from being seen by the man, not trying to kiss her. Grace wanted to shrivel up and die of mortification that she had even thought otherwise. She only hoped he had no idea what she had been thinking.
Grace felt isolated and alone in that moment, despite Alex’s close presence. Turning her mind from her embarrassment over what she had thought Alex was going to do, she thought about her family and their lack of reaction. What would become of them if they couldn’t stop Lord Griffiths before he caused a scandal of epic proportions?
Or before she caused one herself by her wild adventure with Alex Sterling.
“Come along. We’ll leave the groom to follow him and hire one of the inn’s ostlers to help him. We ought to head back to Rathnelly and see what else your sister might know.”
Because they didn’t need to make any stops except to rest the horses and themselves, they made good time returning. To her surprise, Felicity didn’t seem terribly surprised to find out what they knew but she didn’t have anything else to add. There had been word from the rest of the family, though.
Wexford’s message had apparently arrived first, as she would have expected, but Grace actually would have thought it would have arrived even earlier. Grace was surprised he hadn’t come in person. If she were being perfectly honest with herself, she would even admit to being disappointed he hadn’t ridden in to save the day as she had expected. But she would never admit that out loud to anyone. Especially when Alex responded the way he had.
“Did you not say the great Duke of Wexford would save all?” Sterling’s tone was a little snide as he asked the question.
“Well, I am certain I didn’t word it quite like that, but yes, I did expect a great deal from His Grace. But this letter does not imply that we cannot expect his help.”
“It just tells us that he will do his best from where he is and not come here in person.”
“His best from where he is might very well be better than our present best, so don’t discount him just yet.” Grace hated that she sounded so defensive, but there was little she could do about it as she swallowed her disappointment and tried to keep the panic from welling up in her throat. After a slight cough, she continued. “At least, we know that he is now on the alert and looking into any abnormalities in his spheres of influence. He will be sure to let us know if he learns anything. The fact that he hasn’t been aware of anything untoward is comforting, at least, as that tells me disaster has not befallen my eldest sister’s family. It is to be hoped that Eastwood will write similarly. And perhaps, Mr. Northcott will have helpful information with regard to Lord Bertram.”
When they returned from another venture the next afternoon, there was, in fact, a letter from Lord Eastwood and Hilaria awaiting them.
Dear Lady Graciela:
Thank you for the information. We are not aware of any such threats against us but will look into it accordingly. There is no question that Felicity and Rathnelly will be well able to sort out the matters shortly. You need not trouble yourself with it. If you find you cannot cope, do write again.
With love,
Hilaria and Eastwood
Grace stared at the paper in her hand and wondered if she were perhaps having a nightmare. She and Alex had just returned from a long drive back from Uxbridge where they had found out that Lord Griffiths had indeed stayed at that village’s inn on the dates the clerks had thought someone had been spying on the warehouse. It was also there that they were able to confirm his association with Mr. Northcott’s nemesis, Lord Bertram. Grace’s sister, Vigilia, had been able to enlighten them discretely about that connection when she wrote to them.
It had been clever of Griffiths to stay further away and thus be even less likely to run into any Barringtons. But it also confirmed for Grace that their cousin was a threat to her family. And Hilaria was dismissing it as though it were a figment of her imagination or something she couldn’t cope with.
“Of course, I can cope.” She nearly spat the words before she had recollected herself. “My apologies, my lord.” She offered him a smile that felt a trifle wan. “I think I had been expecting a different response.”
“Did you?” he asked with a frown. “I recall you saying that you hoped Eastwood would send a similar message as Wexford. Seems to me they are quite the same.”
Grace had to breathe through her mouth to get over her anger with the earl for being so obtuse.
“They aren’t the same in their flavour, my lord, but that’s neither here nor there. As you say, I am relieved that they, too, are unaware of any current damages. I do hope they will follow through and look, though.”
“You don’t think they will?”
“The letter struck me as being a little dismissive.” Grace tried to explain without allowing her hurt feelings to show.
She must not have been successful. Alex’s large, warm hand closed over her elbow for a moment, and he squeezed gently as though to somehow impart strength to her. Grace’s heart turned over, and she almost pulled away but managed to keep her reaction as contained as possible. It was remarkably kind of him, considering he was usually somewhat dismissive himself.
