Page 36 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

T he sting of alcohol burned sharply, and Lucius sucked in a harsh breath.

Ashcroft’s spectacles reflected the light, and his hand was surprisingly steady as he applied his large, curved needle to Lucius’s still tender skin.

He held back grunts of pain, unable to regret the reasons behind this little setback.

“Your wife’s chamber is quite comfortable,” he said, his fingers working deftly. “I suppose you wouldn’t care to expound on how you’ve managed to undo some of my best crafted needlework?”

“I would not,” Lucius said through gritted teeth.

The lighting of Meredith’s chamber highlighted Ashcroft’s smirk. Especially, looming over Lucius so closely as he worked. “Where is Lady Pender?”

“Bartlett said Rathbourne demanded her presence.”

“She shouldn’t be alone with him,” Ashcroft said softly, never lifting his eyes.

Fear curdled low in his gut. “Explain. What do you know of the duke?”

“Plenty,” he bit out. “Don’t ever underestimate him.”

The warning made Lucius’s shoulder throb. “Like what?” The needle jabbed sharply and Lucius winced.

“A short temper, for one.”

“I need to get down there,” he said, coming to his feet. “We can finish this later.”

“Calm yourself. I informed Bartlett to send Mrs. Verity in with tea and an excuse to extract her.”

Lucius slowly lowered himself back to the bed. He grasped for a subject to suppress the worry. “What were the marks on the drawing you made of the estate I found on your desk?”

Again, Ashcroft’s needle jerked.

Lucius bit out an oath. “Watch it, man. I’m not allowed to kill you.”

“Hmm.”

“Yet,” Lucius clarified.

“Apologies,” Ashcroft’s hand steadied and he continued with his task. It was a couple of minutes before he answered. “I believe it’s possible those missing stewards on that list are buried on the estate.”

“You think they were murdered?” The pain in his shoulder faded with Ashcroft’s stunning declaration.

“Yes.” He straightened and dug through his tin box for the salve, his face averted from Lucius’s.

Lucius’s pulse took an erratic leap. “And you believe the duke is responsible,” he stated in a low voice.

Tension bracketed Ashcroft’s mouth. “I do.” He spread the medicine on the wound, then picked up the bandages.

“But?”

Ashcroft straightened, removing his spectacles and eyeing Lucius with an inscrutable gaze.

Lucius let out a frustrated sigh. “Look. I have my doubts about you, to be sure. But, I rather suspect we find ourselves aligned in our interests here.”

Without a word, Ashcroft returned to the methodical task of re-bandaging Lucius’s shoulder.

The door opened and a breathless Meredith entered. “Heavens.” She spoke in a gasped rush.

The steward lifted his eyes to her where the gas lighting illuminated his face, the softening of his expression. The sight sent a jolt of harsh green envy pounding Lucius’s blood. Something else too.

The green shifted to a haze of red and Lucius’s fists clenched at his sides. With unerring patience, he waited for his vision to clear and the ebb of fury to subside.

Ashcroft completed the bandaging and took a step back to eye his handiwork. Again, he speared Lucius with a considering look. “You should be more careful,” he murmured. His insolence was galling.

The pain in his shoulder pulsed with nagging intensity.

Sometimes such pain was welcome, and it was now.

He quickly reminded himself that letting his guard down, even if Ashcroft had proven himself capable in his wife’s eyes, was not an absolution.

There were far too many questions surrounding the man.

Meredith’s pink cheeks heightened. She aimed a pointed look at Lucius. “He’ll be careful,” she promised.

Lucius bristled, his gaze boring through Ashcroft. In that brief span, he was hit with a blinding light of recognition. “You were one of the reporters outside St. George’s at our wedding,” Lucius accused him. “By God, it was you who purchased an illustration of us from that caricaturist.”

Meredith’s brows furrowed. “What?” She turned a condemning spear on her pet steward.

Ashcroft’s body stilled, his face hewed into carved marble.

“Is this true, Mr. Ashcroft?” she demanded softly.

His mouth firmed.

She stormed to Lucius’s side and, to his astonishment, she shoved Ashcroft’s six foot plus frame aside, turned and placed herself in front of Lucius as if to protect him . “Meredith…” he started.

It was as if she hadn’t heard and poked Ashcroft in the chest. “You tried to kill my husband! You knew I had a gun—you gave it to me. Showed me how to use it.”

Lucius, despite the pain, leaned forward and grabbed her with his good hand. He was now convinced it hadn’t been Ashcroft who’d made the attempt on his life. “What do you have against Rathbourne?” he directed at Ashcroft.

That stopped his wife from struggling to free herself.

“He murdered my mother,” he said, his voice low and guttural. He speared Meredith with a gaze glittering with shards of emeralds. “I suspect he murdered yours as well.”

The words echoed against the newly plastered ceiling.

Meredith paled and her hand splayed the throat of her unbecoming frock. “Murdered,” she whispered. “But… but…”

Lucius came to his feet and guided her to a chair at the table near the window. Taking her by one shoulder, he turned her to him and pushed her gently into a pulled-out chair. A tri-folded document atop some other papers brought him to an abrupt halt. His gaze flew to her accusing one.

Well, that explained her distance when she’d woken.

“I…”

Her mouth tightened, and he realized there was nothing he could say in this moment to excuse himself. Especially with Ashcroft’s annoying presence invading the chamber. Lucius was an utter cad who deserved to be flogged to within an inch of his life.

Time enough for that later.

Without taking his eyes from her, Lucius spoke over his shoulder. “We shall talk later, Ashcroft.”

The next sound in the room was the door latching softly on his exit.

*

Lucius shoved his hand through his hair, but Meredith had no inclination to set him at ease, despite her reasonings the night before—she’d had a weak moment—and another this morning—also weak—he should have told her about the agreement.

She swiveled in her chair and stared out at another wet, gloomy day. A sudden melancholy blanketing her had her tempted to crawl in her bed and pull the covers over her head. Instead, she spun back facing him with an unwavering stare. “Why?”

He lowered to his haunches before her. “In all fairness, I had every intention of giving that blasted agreement to you the instant you stormed the library that day looking like a drowned rat.”

“A drowned rat…” she said slowly.

His palm flattened on her thigh. “But I’d never seen anything so magnificent as all your muddied glory.

And, sad. You’d carried that boy from the mine without a thought for yourself.

You confronted Thornfield on behalf of the child’s family.

” His hand squeezed her thigh. “That is still something I’m still recovering from, however. ”

He came to his feet, took her hand, and pulled her up to his chest. “In any event, darling. There’s no putting the hymen back in place. I fear you are stuck with me.”

Heat infused her face. She leaned in and laid her cheek against the steady thump of his heart. Such a reassuring sound, filled with life and warmth. It seemed to seep beneath her skin. “Stuck with you?”

“If you’ll have me. Of course, only you and I know about your broken hymen.”

“Could you stop talking about… about…”

“Your hymen?”

“Yes, you cur.”

“How else am I supposed to let you know—oh.” He stepped back and snapped his fingers. “This should prove I’m serious like nothing else.” He lifted her chin. “Your Mr. Ashcroft is growing on me. Some,” he clarified. “A little. Let’s just say, I don’t feel an urge to murder him. For now.”

Meredith’s heart pounded against her ribs. She went up on her toes and touched his lips with hers. “You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“I’m but a simple man. Now, could you send for tea? And eggs. Perhaps some bacon, kippers, scones. Or toast if you don’t care for scones.”

Melancholy dispersed, shaking her head and laughter taking over, Meredith took up a pen and jotted a list to hand off to Agnes. The girl was completely scattered. “If you have no wish for anyone to know you’re not dead, I recommend you confine yourself to my chamber,” she told him.

“Brandy.”

She turned to him, jaw dropped. “It’s barely eight in the morning, sir. Is there anything else you require? Reading perhaps. Something along the lines of Women and the Need for Economic Equality: A Plan for England’s Future ?”

Lucius shot her a sheepish grin. “I found it excellent reading.”

Again, that shot of warmth billowed through her from the depths of her abdomen and spread to the tips of her fingers and toes.

A few minutes later, on her task for grabbing a bottle of brandy, Meredith tiptoed down the stairs every sense attuned and ever vigilant for her father. She had no desire for another unexpected audience. His presence at Perlsea still made no sense. Not with Lucius home, er, in house.

Home . With Lucius. Sudden lightness had her nearly floating down the stairs. She wasn’t certain her feet even touched the carpets.

At the base of the stairs, she reached the library but something to her left caught her attention.

Down the short hall a light flickered against the newly varnished wood-planked floors from beneath the study door.

The servants weren’t supposed to clean in there.

First of all, it was unnecessary. The ceiling was in worse repair than Pender’s bedchamber.

The furniture was draped in sheets for protection against the dust and elements in preparation for another phase of her plans for turning the Keep into the grand castle it deserved.

Besides, it was too dangerous. She stalked down the hall, pressed the handle, and silently entered.