Page 6

F inished with serving tea for herself and Lady Heathbrooke, Melody Roberts pulled the book she’d selected for today’s reading into her lap. She’d found it in the library that morning – a copy of Tom Jones by Henry Fielding.

Clearing her throat, she flipped to the first chapter and was just about to proceed when her ladyship said, “I’ve been toying with the idea of getting away for bit.”

Melody looked up from the printed text and found the marchioness’s lips pursed, her expression pensive. “To Brentham Abbey?”

Lady Heathbrooke had spoken of the estate at great length.

She’d lived there with her husband when he’d been alive, but chose to spend most of her time in London after the place had passed to her eldest son.

In the marchioness’s opinion, there could be only one lady of the house, and that title now belonged to her daughter-in-law.

“Brentham Abbey?” Lady Heathbrooke gave her a quizzical look. “Why on earth would I wish to go there?”

Melody blinked. “You’ve always spoken of it with such fondness, I believed it might serve as a lovely retreat.”

“Then you would be wrong.” Lady Heathbrooke sighed and drank some tea.

“While I’m sure my son is fond of his wife, she and I rarely see eye to eye, which tends to create some friction when we’re together.

If I were to visit Brentham Abbey, it would only be for a short stay.

Three days at most. Which hardly makes it worth the effort. ”

“I suppose not,” Melody agreed. From what she’d worked out, it would take at least a couple of days of traveling to reach the Heathbrooke family seat. “Do you have one of the other properties in mind instead?”

There was a spacious cottage in the Lake District, but with winter on the horizon, Melody worried it would be too damp and cold for the older woman. The townhouse in Brighton seemed equally problematic. There was little more depressing than a seaside town out of season.

“Actually, my idea is to travel.”

Melody stared at her. “Travel?”

“Have you ever been to the Continent, dear?”

“Um…”

“Italy will be far more pleasant than England during the winter. In fact, a friend of mine lives there and she has suggested I visit. It’s always been my intention to do so.

Haven’t seen her since we were young girls making our debuts together.

The son of an Italian count attended a ball that summer and she fell madly in love.

But then I married and life got away from me for a bit, raising children and such.

The French Revolution and Napoleon’s quest for power didn’t help much either.

Travel wasn’t as safe as it used to be, but it ought to be possible once more. ”

“I see.” Melody tried to let the scope of what her ladyship wished to do sink in.

As her companion, she supposed she’d be expected to join her on this journey.

That made her think of Harlowe and what he would say to such a thing.

Would the man who’d raised her to serve as an agent of the Crown even let her leave? Could he prevent her from doing so?

She’d no idea, but she realized she might enjoy the escape a trip to Italy offered. The chance to get a reprieve from the spying and all the parts she had to play in order to do her job. The lies and manipulations.

Her only hesitation was Marsdale, whom she’d been hoping to see again soon. But the truth was, he’d left London too – had travelled to his estate without informing her when he’d be back. There was a good chance he’d be gone until the spring.

She frowned in response to the loneliness this notion instilled in her breast. Pining over a man who’d made her no promises, a man she knew she stood no chance of sharing a future with, a man with whom she’d enjoyed but a few conversations, was the utmost of stupidity.

A swift inhale steadied her pulse. His departure was a good thing, she reminded herself, for it meant she no longer had to try and make him betray Croft’s trust.

Honestly, she hated Harlowe for asking that of her. The earl was a good man. Taking advantage of his heartache was wrong. And if he ever discovered the truth – that she had been placed in his path for the purpose of gathering information – she worried it would mark him forever.

It didn’t help that she also thought of him with increased fondness. That he’d been the person she sought with her gaze when she and Lady Heathbrooke attended the last balls of the Season. It only complicated matters. Especially since she’d likely imagined a connection that simply wasn’t there.

She took a deep breath. Leaving England for a few months would force her to focus on something else.

As if sensing her internal struggle, her ladyship said, “Though I wish it could be otherwise, an attachment between you and Marsdale won’t work.

Yes, I can see that’s what you’re thinking of at the moment, and while it may feel unjust and difficult, you shall both get past this brief infatuation.

Out of sight, out of mind. I’m a firm believer in that. Hence, Italy.”

Melody had no words. It hadn’t occurred to her that Lady Heathbrooke might be doing this to force a separation. Her frankness on the matter should have been shocking, yet instead of anger, Melody managed to find understanding.

For while the truth pained her, she had to be realistic. As such, she picked up her teacup and tried for a smile. “When do you wish to depart?”

* * *

Dorian Harlowe reloaded his rifle and fired another shot. It glanced off the bottle he’d hung from a tree, making it swing when it should have been smashed to pieces. With a curse of frustration, he snatched up another lead ball and prepared for his next attempt.

Everything was going to hell. Tara, Holly, and Hazel, who’d been tasked with finding Samantha and bringing her home, had failed in their mission.

They’d ridden out separately but only Hazel had managed to find her.

Instead of ensuring Samantha’s return to Clearview House however, Hazel had been injured so badly she still couldn’t walk.

And with both Samantha and her husband pardoned, their positions within Society fully restored, the task of making Samantha vanish for good was far trickier. If anything happened to her now, an investigation would follow, whereas before…

She’d been a fugitive accused of treason. A bounty had been placed on her head. No one would have blinked if she’d disappeared.

As he knew she must, no matter how much he loathed the idea of taking her life.

He’d raised her as his own, after all. She’d been his best agent – his greatest asset. The problem was she knew too much about him and the Nightingale Project he’d started. Information he could no longer trust her to safeguard after she’d been compromised.

If what she knew got into the wrong hands, everyone involved in the project’s creation would be in danger, not only of facing charges and going to prison but of assassination by those who thought them a threat to the kingdom.

Dorian had no illusion about receiving help from the government should such a thing occur.

That was the price he’d paid for doing what he believed necessary.

When things went awry, he was on his own.

Down two agents with another two circling their shadows, he was wary of how to move forward.

He set the rifle against his shoulder, took aim, and fired. The bottle didn’t even move this time. Damn nuisance. Maybe he should get his eyes checked.

The sound of someone approaching caused him to turn. His butler, Branton, strode toward him. Dorian squinted against the afternoon sun behind him. “What is it?”

“A letter, sir.” Branton raised his hand to reveal the missive he carried. “It just arrived and since it was sent from Heathbrooke House, I thought it might be important.”

Dorian stepped toward the butler and accepted the letter.

Hopefully, some good news at last. He tore the red wax seal and unfolded the paper.

The message was not only brief but unwelcome.

He read it a second time for good measure, then crumpled the paper in his fist and started marching toward the house.

Melody was leaving England tomorrow. There was no indication of when she’d return. Only two agents remained – his most inexperienced ones.

What he needed right now was a tall glass of brandy. And maybe some sparring to get his rage under control.