Page 32 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

“You sent me a letter?”

“I did. Only one. What are you holding?”

He’d almost forgotten. “A copy of our betrothal agreement.”

Her head whipped up. “I thought you didn’t make it to London.”

“I didn’t.” His voice dipped, bound by the menace that gripped him. “I found it in Ashcroft’s cottage.”

“Surely they were left there by your father. In the care of the previous steward?”

“No,” he said softly. “They were in Ashcroft’s valise.”

“His valise ? You went through his valise ?”

“You are missing the point, Meredith.” He spoke through a clenched jaw. “Ashcroft. Had. A. Copy. Of our Betrothal Agreement. ”

“But why?”

Dear God. If he’d had use of both arms, he would shake her to within an inch of her life. Instead, he grabbed the papers and slammed them in her hand and pushed her into the chair at the table. “Read the section on Perlsea Keep. Number five, if you please,” he bit out.

“All right.” She pulled the oil lamp closer.

The ebony sky coming through the windows reflected the flickering light of the glass panes behind her, deepening the streaks in her hair that ranged from flaxen to wheat to soft chestnut.

“This says that should I predecease you, ownership of Perlsea shall revert back to the Pender estate, ensuring the property remains under Pender control.”

“Read on.”

She lowered her head and continued aloud. “Should Lucius Oshea predecease Meredith Jephson after the marriage is consummated—” Her face turned a becoming shade of pink. “— Perlsea Keep shall remain in her sole ownership, independent of the Pender estate…” She lifted her face. “Oh.”

“Someone tried to kill me,” he said. “If I die, you retain ownership of the Keep. And, in the event you’ve forgotten, our marriage was consummated. Granted, it was years late, but no one can deny the fact now. Especially, if you are with child.”

“With child!”

“That is the usual method for bringing a child into the world.”

He swooped the scissors from the table and strolled over to her open sewing basket. Dropped them in where they landed with a clunk.

Metal on metal?

Frowning, Lucius glanced down and froze.

The lightheaded sensation returned with a vengeance.

He lowered to one knee for two reasons. One, fainting was unacceptable.

Two, this find required an immediate explanation.

He reached in and pulled out a pepperbox revolver.

Flecks of dried mud dulled the barrel and ivory handle.

He held it in an open palm, his insides quivering with fury, while black dots scudded his vision.

“Would you care to explain this?” he rasped.

*

Meredith drew in a sharp breath. “It’s my pistol,” she said softly. “Do you think you ought to sit down? Your complexion is green. Or gray. I can’t quite decide.”

“Never mind my complexion ,” he bit out. “Why do you have a pistol, and why is it muddy?” His anger was palpable.

The shock of the moment passed. Bristling, she came to her feet and moved to his side.

He needed to lie down, and not on the floor.

She’d never be able to get him to a bed without help, which would require explanation.

“Don’t take that condescending tone with me, my lord.

” She gently removed the gun from his hand and set it on the floor then guided him to his feet with difficulty.

“What sort of tone should I take, pray tell? Do you even know how to use that thing?” His tone was near breathless, and she worried over his ability in making the short trek to the bed.

“I do indeed. Mr. Ashcroft gave it to me three years ago after a confrontation with Basil Thornfield. He taught me how to use it to protect myself.” That statement quieted him momentarily.

As it should have. She’d been terrified at the time.

They reached the bed, and he nearly collapsed. She stood back, studying him intently.

His brows furrowed appearing so sinister in the low light, it sent shivers up her spine.

“Stop it. Stop looking at me as if I planned to smother you with a pillow.” Meredith frowned. “I believe it was used to shoot you.”

A slow hiss escaped through his pursed lips. “So, you don’t deny it?”

“Deny what?” Exasperation hit her with a vengeance. “That you were shot with my gun? Of course I don’t deny it. What I want to know is who took it and tried to kill you.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Mr. Ashcroft found it in the mud close to where you had fallen from your horse.”

“Ashcroft seems to be everywhere all at once,” he remarked, his irritation flooding the atmosphere. His pallor appeared almost chalky.

“Thank heavens for that, leastways,” she muttered. “Lie back, sir, before you lose consciousness.” A second later the outrage hit her. “You can’t possibly believe that Mr. Ashcroft or I attempted to murder you. Next you’ll be accusing us of conspiring to do you in.”

“Need I remind you that if I predecease you, you retain Perlsea Keep?”

“Have you looked about lately?” she snapped. “Perlsea Keep is hardly a jewel. Besides, I—”

Lucius fell onto his back, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “That’s true, but you are forgetting something even more lucrative.”

She strolled back to the table and looked at the document. “The mine.”

“Yes. Upon our nuptials, your father was awarded thirty percent ownership of the mineral rights with profits split in accordance with his shares.”

“That doesn’t sound like all that much, considering his current wealth,” she pointed out.

He tried spearing her with a look she was certain was designed to quell, as if she were some uneducated nitwit. It fell short. “Do you know the status of his current wealth?”

“Of course not.” A man like her father would never consider his daughter , or any woman, privilege of such information.

“Men have lost entire fortunes in the space of a night spent at a gaming hell.” His irritation was vastly amusing.

She snorted. “ My father? Why he’s as tight fisted as a spinster with her dowry.”

“Or a widow,” he retorted, falling back and folding his arm over his eyes.

“A widow…”

“A widow. If I die, all rights—one hundred percent—revert to you. He will no longer receive his thirty percent. Which, incidentally, could be a substantial amount. We don’t know because we have no idea of the mine’s actual output—ore and monetary.

Do you think Rathbourne prone to letting you run things?

And, if there’s no child, who do you suppose steps in to assist you, the grieving countess? ”

“Grieving?” she said with a bite to her tone. After a moment, her shoulders fell. “You think my father tried to kill you.”

“No, as I was politely but firmly informed earlier, those are the sort of pesky tasks a man in a duke’s position doles out.”

Meredith fell into a chair at the table. “Dear heavens. I hate admitting it, but you could be right.”

“Ashcroft has a history with the duke. We need to learn the nature of that history.”

Stubborn resolve goaded her. “I refuse to concede that Mr. Ashcroft stole my gun.”

“Someone… did.” His voice grew concerningly more breathless with each uttered word. “And… Ashcroft… works at… the Keep. How… the devil… can you… be… so blind?”

“Yes. Someone did,” she repeated softly, rising from the table and hurrying to him. She poured out a small glass of water. “Drink this.” She needed to think.

Meredith believed Mr. Ashcroft when he said he hadn’t tried to kill Lucius.

But there was also no discounting the tremor of fear she’d felt when he’d shut his office door, trapping her inside.

Trapping her . Still, she shook off the notion.

She couldn’t fathom it. She just couldn’t.

He’d been too instrumental in assisting her since coming to Penhalwick.

The school.

The Keep.

His help with her Literary Society.

In teaching her how to defend herself against the likes of Basil Thornfield.

Meredith lifted her gaze to find Lucius staring at her through the lamp’s soft light.

The intimacy of the situation struck her in the chest. She wanted to dive into his arms— arm —but that wasn’t possible for several reasons, the first being she might hurt him further.

Setting the glass on the bedside table, she leaned in to help him sit then took the glass and set it to his lips.

She cleared her throat. “What of Mr. Thornfield?”

“Do you really believe Thornfield snuck into your bedchamber to pilfer your revolver? For one, he’d have to know where to look.”

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she set the glass back on the table and stared at it. He hadn’t even taken a sip. She shook her head. “There must be some explanation. I don’t see Papa doing so either.”

“On that we’re agreed. Which brings us back to Ashcroft. We need to learn more of his background. There’s something familiar about him I can’t put my finger on. Could I have that water?”

Heat infused her cheeks. How could she be so disconcerted. “Of course.”

A tap sounded at the door.

“Enter,” Lucius said.

Meredith shot him a stern, exasperated glare. “This is my chamber, sir. Not yours. In point of fact—” She angled her head to the paper on the tabletop. “According to that, you are trespassing on my property.”

A wolfish grin curved his firm lips despite his eyes drooping and him clearly straining to remain upright. “Only if I’m dead.”

She opened her mouth to blast him, but Graham’s face peered around the door. “Your food awaits, my lord.”

“Bring it in here,” Meredith said before her husband could. She was still mistress of this Keep.