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Once Rafe heard the door shut, he collapsed into the nearest chair. But he was hardly alone. Sylvia’s damned scent still hung in the air, along with the many accusations she had so freely lobbed at him.
You’re only a tool to them.
Something to use.
Rafe’s fingers dug into the fabric of the armchair. What the hell did she know about his work? Abouthim?
He let out an exhausted sigh, poured a cup of the now tepid tea Lady Delacorte hadn’t even touched, and brought it to his lips. And to think, he had actually believed they were falling in love. That Sylvia saw past the image he displayed for the world to the truth that lay beneath and could love him even more for it. But she hadn’t at all liked what she found there.
Is your ego so insatiable that you need to help destroy the world in order to feel important?
Christ. He would never forget the disgust that had flashed in her eyes as she said those words. How little she must think of him now.
Just as he felt a hot flush creeping up his neck, Rafe shook his head and rolled his shoulders. Enough. The pressure of the mission had clearly gotten to him. That was the only explanation for the avalanche of mistakes he had made since the moment he set foot in this damned castle.
No. Since the moment your eyes entangled with Sylvia Sparrow’s.
Correction: Sylvia BloodyWilcox.
“Dammit.”
Rafe practically threw the teacup down. He needed something much stronger. So what if it wasn’t even noon? He hadn’t yet gone to sleep. Surely certain allowances could be made under the circumstances…
“You look like hell.”
Rafe startled to attention and noticed Henry standing before him, clean-shaven and much more clear-eyed than he had been at his sister’s. “When did you get here?”
“A few minutes ago. You were busy staring daggers at a tea set and muttering to yourself when I came in. Didn’t even hear me knock.”
Rafe dragged a hand over his face. “I take it you got my message?” He had cabled Henry last night.
“Yes.” Henry took the seat opposite him and set his cane aside. “Though I would be remiss if I didn’t mention thatyounever responded tomymessage yesterday.” Then his brow furrowed with concern. “I was worried.”
“My apologies. I was occupied.”
“I gathered,” Henry drawled. “I don’t suppose the young lady I just met fleeing this room was somehow involved?”
“That’s the woman I told you about.”
“I see. And is there a reason you both look utterly devastated, or is that merely a coincidence?”
Rafe shot him a scowl. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That usually means you absolutely should.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
To Rafe’s surprise, Henry let out a laugh. “Quite right. But on this particular occasion we are discussingyourromantic foibles.”
“I don’t have time for this,” he grumbled. “There is the body of a man who held the entire government in his palm locked in the larder and a mountain of evidence to go through.”
“This is where I point out that if you had bothered to read my message yesterday, you would be several steps ahead by now.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes. “What do you know?”
“Well, after your visit the other day, I did some investigating and found that most of the servants left Castle Blackwood after Wardale took over. That in itself isn’t unusual, especially if the staff were older. But one name kept coming up: James Brodie, the unfortunate gardener in your message.”
“Yes. He grew up here.”
